


Drabbles for the Sleepless Nights

by seraphienus



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-24
Updated: 2013-02-26
Packaged: 2017-11-26 17:44:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraphienus/pseuds/seraphienus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bunch of oneshots for the sleepless nights.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hiding

The sun decides to go soft on Piers in the Autumn season when he stirs from the light shining in, shuffling a little before he turns his back to get some more of the sleep he is deprived of. But the touch of hard skin awakens him, the warmth spreading beneath the sheets even more so when he feels his legs tangling with another pair of limbs, strong and sturdy. He sensuously glides the flat of his foot along the mild strands of hair from them, earning a slow grunt from somewhere above his head. When he finally opens his eyes, the naked collarbone of a stud is the only thing coming in sight as he breathes the little remains of his fading musky cologne left from the night before. 

When he dips his head back into the pillow to look at the foreign body, the sleeping face of his captain warms his heart. He brings a hand to the back of his ear to caress it, feeling the nuzzling heat radiating from his body that he couldn’t resist scooting close into. Lowering his hand, he slides his hand past his jaw as he hides his feet between the captain’s legs, earning a little stir from the man who simply pulled his body closer to his, hands wrapping to the small of his back. Piers likes it, having their bodies close like this, he could almost feel their pelvics rocking together when their footplay fights for dominance below. 

So Chris is awake beneath that sleeping face. Piers grins mischievously before he nips the exposed neck in a playful fashion, you can almost call it a puppy claiming his prize.

A soft chuckle escapes Chris’ lips as he lets his sleepy eyes pull apart slightly, a hand riding up the deep muscle of Piers’ back circling in soothing rhythm. Piers purrs in his shoulders, the gentle nuzzle grazing his skin electrifying his senses. He decides to return the gesture, the other free hand slid beneath Piers’ body finds its way to the side of his hip cupping the slightly protruding arch of his curvature, firm and masculine the way he likes it. The pads of his fingers brushes his skin hypnotically so much so that Piers subtly moves his hands across Chris’ broad chest in similar affection, before they run up the sides of his arms to his face. Pushing his body up, Piers leans in for a morning kiss over his Chris’ lips, chaste to likes of lips brushing and hearts beating. 

It is the first morning after the first night they had explored each other. 

The night filled fire, passion and aggression relives in Piers’ mind. He remembers how his captain’s warm hands touches every contour of his body, finding all those sensitive spots that he never knew existed in his body, and the excitement rushing through his body when he feels him breathing against his skin. The sensation he felt when their lips ravished over one another, the need to feel his captain taking his breath away and giving it all back to him before he teases him in every known way that makes him shrivel in helplessness. Those talented lips, oh so talented lips, brushing over chest, navel and hips before they work over his burning hardness. He had been so close to awakening that fulfillment when he recalls how his captain pushes his fingers back over his skin when he pulls back from his cock, and how he brings them back together when his head bobs down with his fingers working in reverse notion. The intensity grating through his control was exhilarating, how he had suppressed those aching moans was a mystery to him. It was embarrassing, being able to watch his captain getting over him to perform his… experienced act not only got him harder then, it got him wanting for more. 

“What are you thinking?” The dreamy face Piers is wearing got Chris curious for he seems to have drifted somewhere far away, far enthralled.

Piers’ only reaction is to flush at his reminiscence as he untangles the bodies pressed together, he doesn’t want the captain to find out he got heated up from just thinking about their rendezvous the night before. 

“Nothing, cap-I mean, Chris…” 

Oh Chris definitely loved the way how his name curled in Piers’ lips. 

“Doesn’t look like nothing to me,” Chris supports the fact by pulling Piers back into his embrace, which the younger male puts his hands over his chest to space their bodies from touching. Any closer he might burst, and leap over his captain to continue their scandalous lovemaking. 

But for that gesture, Chris thought he might have done something wrong warranting Piers’ behavior. Stubbornly, he shifts his torso closer to Piers, plopping his head onto his pillow to keep this distance close enough so he only sees his beautiful lover and he could only see him. And to make sure he doesn’t try to make a run from it, he sneaks both hands to the hilt of his ass, gently kneading his perhaps-sore muscles in an attempt to soothe the nervousness Piers seems to be portraying.

“What are you hiding from me, hmm?” The husky morning voice makes Piers swoons over it, and the playfulness behind it is turning him so on as well.

“D-don’t ask… Chris.” By word of his captain’s name, Piers finds himself slightly squirming in his captain’s arms. Oh he really want to get out of there and hide his shame in the bathroom right this instance. 

“Piers,” but the captain doesn’t let him leave, instead he lets his lips finds his way over his, dry kissing with their open mouths and needy gasps, before showing his concerns to Pier’s behavior, “Is it something I’ve done?”

Oh god no, pleads Piers’ heart as he smiles foolishly wrapping both arms around Chris’ neck, pulling the captain into his embrace when their bodies touch again. Chris lets his legs urgently finding his ace’s, quick to bring them to union once he feels the warmth beneath the stuffy sheets. But he didn’t care, the heat didn’t bother him as much as Piers staying away from him. Then he felt it, somewhere right where his hips felt it, a hardness equal that of to his awakened boner crushing against him. 

“That’s… what I’m  _hiding_ , captain.” Damn his voice is so intoxicating it got Chris harder than before. The soft moans rasping against his ear is driving him crazy.

“Then we’ll gonna have to do something about  _that_ , won’t we?” And with that, Piers finds himself instead flipped right back onto the bed with a groaning captain spreading over him, hands at everywhere before his mind could register any coherent thoughts to put him to stop. Without his mind actually stopping him, Piers slightly parts his legs to let his captain settle in between him, the cool air contrasting against the body heat from his captain as the sheets slides off him, making him desperately cling onto his captain’s body for more of that addictive heat that he couldn’t resist.

“C-captain.. ….” 

“Chris, my dear Piers. Remember that well because that’ll be all you’re going to be able to say later.” 

And boy is the captain right about that.


	2. Ice Cream

Nobody said anything about the sticky icky feeling it leaves behind.

Nobody said anything about the overdose of sweetness it drives.

Nobody said anything about the coldness it tingles anywhere else.

And certainly, nobody said that ice cream is supposed to be placed anywhere else other than in your mouth. 

Piers is a little caught by the surprise, that his 13-years-older captain is anywhere as frisky as this. Now honestly, how did things get to this? Nothing is actually off track until Chris suggested having the ice cream he bought two nights ago. Nothing is supposed to happen when the captain only brought one spoon to the bed they spread themselves on, watching silly black and white movies that they couldn’t make out much of. They had been patient to share the spoon, each taking their turn to eat the frozen icky sugar off the metal until they went into a frenzy. Frenzy? Oh that started when Chris unknowingly start licking the sickly sweet remains off the spoon, a sight that Piers has never seen before in his entire life.

The predominant famous captain of Alpha, sticking his tongue out wiping the contents clean of his spoon, like the child awakened inside him. 

And that didn’t pan out for Piers, for he immediately loses his sense of rationality and leaps for his officer, shoving the remains of the ice cream onto the table as he pounces over. Chris is taken aback by Piers’ aggressiveness, something that he doesn’t see very often but when he does, he is most certainly happy about it. Still grabbing the spoon in his hand, Piers dives over his lips, tasting the remains of the icky slick sweetness spreading around his captain’s mouth. He steals a breath from his captain, sucking a mouthful of it when he draws his captain’s tongue in his, fighting to lead their dance. Chris lets him, feeling the need to succumb beneath Piers at his eagerness, relinquishing a portion of his leading manor for now, but only for now. 

Feeling that dominance even for a fraction of a second, Piers eagerly repositions himself over Chris, knees digging into the gap between Chris’ legs as he sinks into the bed beneath. The face of his thighs presses into Chris’ groin, drawing a deep groan from the captain in between their mouth crushing. Spreading his legs slightly further apart, Chris sighs into the kiss, feeling Piers working on his lips, the grate of his teeth pulling his lips back and forth, dragging his bottom half hard in and out of his mouth. The boy can really kiss.

Eyes darken with lust, Piers finally pulls back from him, face flushed as he watches Chris panting with equal desire, “Sweet like sugar, captain.” 

Chris grins, a devious plan forming in his head like clouds gathering before a thunderstorm, “Oh? But I know something else that’ll taste much much sweeter than this.”

Heart throbbing, Piers watches his captain’s eyes looking into him, deep into the velvet heat welling in his stomach. Piers takes a deep breath, nervous at the predatory eyes his captain is stripping him with. God he should have known he shouldn’t trifle with the beast inside.

He didn’t know what got into Chris tonight, but he isn’t about to complain either. Usually he wouldn’t find the captain in a mood like this, dirty and sexy and devious, not especially when he is still clad in the white shirt and royal blue tie worn for the reception earlier today, at an award ceremony by the city council. Piers licks his lower lip, unable to tear his eyes away from the vestige disappearing to his pectorals. His evil carnal twin purrs inside, watching the captain folding his long sleeves in a painfully slow rhythm before sliding the tie off to his right, revealing the naked valleys of his gorgeous contours across his shoulders. Piers now finds himself reeling into the disappearing skin beneath his captain’s fabric, beginning to form images of those beautiful textures his fingers loved trailing over and over.

Pinning Piers down onto the bed, Chris grins at his young lover before he places the tie over Piers’ eyes, receiving a withdrawal effect almost immediately, “W-what are you doing?”

“Relax, this is gonna make you feel good.”

Though reluctant, Piers tries to relax into giving into his captain’s request, the light soon withdrawn from his sight to only be replaced by darkness from the opacity. Before he could adapt to the blindness, he feels his hands being pulled from his body onto the headrest behind him, Chris’ rough hands seizing a breath inside him as he feels something soft sliding across his wrists. Rigid by the fear of losing control, Piers soon finds himself immobilized on the bed, hands restrained above his head with his sight being taken away. Shaking, by either nervousness or excitement, the silence leaves Piers’ senses heighten unwillingly, so much so that he could hear his own heartbeat in the stillness.

“C-Chris…?” He pleads softly, hands fisting the restraining material above him out of sheer anxiety.

But his captain doesn’t reply him. When he gathers his voice to search for him again, the icy touch of wet texture gliding across his chest startles him in a tight yelp.

His body goes rigid under the foreign sensation, a sharp gasp hissing when he feels it moving across his chest. Something’s guiding it, well that would clearly be Chris doing so, stretching it from the center to his side. At an instant, tiny nips start pulling his skin, lapping the unknown substance off before more goes back onto it, the repeated cold intrusion invading his senses, dragging closer and closer to his nipple. And Chris doesn’t spare him from it, in a frenzy union of heat and freeze, Piers feels him working his tongue over his hardened nub, spreading the now creamy texture all over his sensitive skin mercilessly.

Chris watches as Piers arches into a frantic moan, rasping his name softly when he plays with the sticky food. His free hand explores the young skin Piers offers, specifically searching for the neglected nub that he thumbs with, rolling his index finger over the piquancy as he tugs it, pulling it before releasing it again. He continues it repeatedly, tightening his pinches each time he goes back into it as his lips purses over the other, teeth occasionally gritting the tenderness that draws a sharp groan from Piers.

If Piers had been standing, he knew he would have buckle all over his knees in face with his captain’s lavishing. Lying down however, he couldn’t resist his body going under short tantrums of shock at the roughness Chris puts him at either. It doesn’t get better when Chris switches position between his tongue and fingers, reenacting the earlier scenario on the right side to his left now, unleashing the brutality on the abused nipple with the softness of his tongue mingling with the cold flavor. The remnants of the icky fragrance sticking onto his chest wavers in the air, Piers immediately knew it was that goddamn peach ice cream.

“G-god, Chris…”

Maybe it was the lost of visual ability as well as control, Piers feels helpless where he lies in. The thought of him being restrained right where he was in Chris’ eyes sends a carnal shudder down his groin, with him looking welcoming and ready for him to ravish in. His legs start to shuffle beneath Chris but the senior lover holds them down in place. Every short breath touching his skin is electrifying, Piers feels the desire pooling inside growing in size and his cock responding with equal need. God if only Chris could just touch him, relieve him off that ache containing inside…  _just fucking touch me already._

As though reading Piers’ mind, or likely just acting on his own primitive urges, Chris stops his vicious assaults as he stares down at the awakened hardness between Piers’ legs. Erected and firm, he watches small drops of precum leaking down from his head, legs still squirming at the biting ache trapped inside. Chris grins satisfyingly, the flushing cheeks beneath the tie on his lover’s face getting him so hard that he licks in the inner of his lips, still staring at the stiff cock waiting for him.

“C-Chris…” Piers whimpers this time, breathy moans seizing most of his thoughts as he struggles a decent call for help, “… oh Chris p-please… …”

“Please what, baby…?” To further prove his point, Chris lets a hand briefly run up then down along Piers’ shaft, earning a frustrated gasp in full delight.

“Goddamn-dammit if you d-don’t now I’d s-swear—” Before the frustration blows up disproportionately, Chris is quick to seal a kiss over Piers, coaxing the anger with languid strokes as Piers pairs along with him, blowing hard breaths before taking them away from one another.

Whispering, “Hush baby, …  _hush._ ”

Feeling Chris moving away from his face, his mind immediately sorts out all the possibilities that his captain might do next and it sends him into an overdrive of lustful desperation. The touch of two hands moving along his hips leaves him trembling, as the contact moves lower and lower to his much needed attention. Piers takes a deep breath, legs slightly parting further wantonly, urging his captain to pick up the pace already.

So Chris puts his hand to it, holding the shaft firmly in his hand as he moves up and down slowly, watching Piers intently as he repeats his actions. Reddened lips cooing, short pants squeeze through his fairly parted lips, sound of hot gasps entering his ears as Piers grips the fabric in his hands tightly. Looking at his partner being so involved in the act, Chris feels the satisfaction worming through his stomach, his cock yearning for some attention of his own.

Needful, he pulls his hand away from Piers’ cock before lowering his tongue onto the tip of it, using the back to circle around his shape. He then tickles the slit in the middle of it, tasting honey before he goes back lavishing the twitching cock. Lowering his head, he bobs the action down as he engulfs his shaft in one trip, squeezing his lips tight around the warm organ before he sucks the inner sides of his mouth against heated flesh. Piers moans without restraint, the sensation groping his balls by Chris’ hands making him break every resolve he has to control himself.

“God so g-good…”

Chris grins from the compliments.  _Sweeter than sugar._

His tongue moves around the shape of the shaft in his mouth, occasionally withdrawing right back to the tip of it before he goes back down, balls deep such that fine hair caresses the tip of his nose. Chris works at his own pace, a devious slow one in fact, and all the voice Piers throws at him are so intoxicating that he had to stop to look at him once more, before he finally tears the tie away from his eyes as he crawls over him.

“Don’t look away.” Chris demands it, so threateningly that Piers nods beneath him timidly, the sight of his lover enthralls all of him so devouringly.

After getting what he wants, Chris presses his hips against Piers as he dips into his pants pulling his cock out in plain sight. Piers almost waters at it, the red shades running up to the height of his cheekbones as he watches his captain brings his own organ over his in a hard grip. Barely able to contain both organs, Chris extends his fingers as far apart as he could, hooking his thumb underneath Piers’ cock as he desperately pushes them together, the wetness coated over easing his difficulty as he starts pumping them, ricocheting the movement quickly.

“Fuck, Chris…” Piers cusses, tilting his head back drowning in his own ecstasy when Chris screams at him.

“I said, don’t fucking look away.”

Shuddering at the dangerous voice, Piers manages to pull himself back into the spotlight, only to see his captain’s harsh eyes raining at him. He holds a lull, the tightness in his stomach increasing as their union climbs higher and higher. He wanted so badly to touch Chris, to embrace him and kiss him but then realizes the fact that he had been tied to the fucking headrest nonetheless, groaning in the haze of the peaking climax washing upon them. Struggling, he tries to tear his limbs off the fabric but to no avail, the damned need to touch Chris is painfully unsatisfied as his body continue to convulse in their rising tension. The scent of their mixed precum is driving him insane, much as the occasional whiffs of Chris’ scent running through his nose as he purses his lips ever so tightly together, muffled moans hidden in shame. Panting hardly, Chris turns his wrist inwardly, trying to drag the strain for as long as he could while he brings them to completion. Then he brings his eyes onto Piers, who is doing as he was told looking down at their wet cocks crashing together, savoring the pleasure he brings to his lover as he appears to stifle yet another sudden yelp from his thrusting.

“I-I’m close…” Piers breathes as he bucks his hips closer to relieve the friction against Chris, grinding against the slick organ.

Chris nods, voice shaky, “… come for me, baby.”

And in a moment, strings of pearly-white cum shoots from their suppression, emptying seeds over Piers’ stomach and they sigh in fruition, throaty exhales escaping hard and loud completely. Chris squeezes their shafts tightly, causing Piers to tremble at his relentlessness, draining every drop of semen out of their tips, dragging the flaccid flesh down before raking it back up until he feels satisfied with his effort. The staggering remains spurts out in small volumes, dripping along the sides of the shafts as it flows down, staining Chris’ hand as he tastes it from his fingertip,  _sweeter than honey._

Exhausted, he drops his body over Piers as he reaches to untie his shirt over Piers’ hands. His young lover immediately brings both hands to his back, running his fingertips gently over his wet muscles. Slowly dissolving the intensity, Chris relaxes into Piers’ body, hands digging beneath the bed into the trapped heat between the sheets and Piers’ back, enjoying the warm therapy.

“Looks like the ice cream melted,” Piers jokes upon noticing the messy gooey substance in the container at the far corner of the bed.

Chris hymns at it however, slowly drifting off to sleep, “…well, we can always… get’em… tomorr…”

Smiling, Piers thought likewise as he shifts his body lower, pulling the covers over his captain as he ends the night with a chaste kiss to him. 


	3. Beg

“Can’t you just come back tomorrow to finish up what’s left? We’re all leaving already since the heater’s out. Reservation’s at six and it’s already five-thirty. We don’t wanna lose our table, Chris.”

“The hell I’m coming back on Christmas to finish up some paperwork, Jill.” Chris shivers again in the cold, the heater really chose a good time to break down. “Just give me another fifteen minutes man.”

“Sorry I can’t, Barry’s already gone to take the car to drop us before he heads home and I can’t stand Vickers grumbling any longer about this cold so I’m leaving now. I’ll see you at the restaurant then, you can hitch Captain Wesker’s car later when you’re both done. Laters.”

And Chris watches the door close before him, as if the silence in the room isn’t cold enough already, he’s now stuck with papers, silence, snow chill, and his captain. What are the odds?

Chris finds himself having a hard time concentrating at the computer, his fingers leaving the keyboard at the end of every line to find some warmth he blows into. They tried getting the repairman in earlier this morning but the guy’s schedule had been packed so full that the only time he is able to afford is tomorrow evening. So the S.T.A.R.S. officer will have to bear with today, which they have already done so up to now, leaving for the reserved Christmas dinner they made with one another. Except for Chris, still struggling with the final parts to his report, which also explains why he is still here suffering in the cold. And Jill left him with one impossible task to accomplish, which he assumes is the real reason why she has baited out of office so soon.

Inviting Captain Wesker to dinner. With them.

Even with the kind of relationship they have been secretly engaging, that has got to be the toughest mission Chris has ever received, despite the fact that he was the one who suggested inviting the captain.

To be honest, he had thought the older man hadn’t shown up at work at all. Not skipping out on work deliberately of course, Chris had assumed their captain might have left town to attend meetings or similar activities pertaining to his duties. But apparently not it seems, for it was during lunch when Chris first and last saw Wesker stepping out then into his office again, not a sound thereafter that appearance.

Just as he was thinking about how he would approach his captain to invite him to the dinner, the office door not far from his desk swings open and the blonde steps out, a mug in his hand. It has always been a mystery to Chris to why his captain would even bother wearing his sunglasses indoors, it wasn’t like there was any UV rays he was in particular need avoiding. No tan on his alabaster skin definitely.

“What are you still doing here?” The vivid British intonation hits him hard, Chris loves and hates this voice all in one go.

“R-Reports. I’m-I’m almost d-do-done.” The clattering between his teeth shakes hard. Chris didn’t realize the cold has hit him that hard while he sat stuck in his chair for the last two hours.

Wesker quirks an eyebrow real quick, the only expression Chris manages to see actually, as he walks towards the pantry some distance away. When he comes back with a mug full of fresh coffee again, he could virtually see the visible shiver quivering all over the marksman. Irritated, by perhaps even a teensy bit of worry, he knocks on Chris’ desk, successfully distracting the young officer from his attention to said computer screen.

“Come in you. I don’t need a dead corpse in my office.”

Chris brightens at the invitation, that’s a first.

Then next he cusses for not stepping into the captain’s office earlier before. His heater is working damn well alright.

“Have you all not contacted the repairman to repair the broken apparatus?”

Chris sits at the chair opposite of Wesker like he always did so when he was called in for reprimanding, watching the captain going through the endless stack of documents, “Yeah we did. Guy’s only free to come tomorrow.”

The captain doesn’t look up from his studies, leaving Chris continually observing him instead of doing his work. How is he going to ask the captain to join them for dinner?

“Don’t you have your work to do? You’re not getting them done by looking at me.”

Oh snap, he got him.

Summoning courage, Chris takes a deep breath as the comfort of the heater settles his shuddering before he speaks, “Yeah I know but erm, captain? Are you free tonight?”

That made Wesker look up, “What?”

“I mean, the guys got a table at that place featured in the magazine so I was wondering if you would…like…to… join us?”

Leaning back into his swivel chair, the captain folds his arms as he questions, “That was unnecessarily… thoughtful, but why?”

Chris stares blankly, “Why? What do you mean why?”

“Why bother inviting me when you should know I would decline it?”

There is that annoying I-know-it-all voice again, Chris snorts, “So you mean I can’t even try at all? Can’t try hoping you might say yes?”

Wesker remains silent. Chris could almost sniff a hidden scoff coming from him.

“It’s okay if you don’t usually mingle with us but it’s the eve, can’t you just humor everyone for once? We’re a team, aren’t we?”

Chris knows he must have almost sounded pathetic there—he’s on the brink of pleading. He really wants to spend a normal evening with the captain other than the sex they have been having. Just for once, something normal so that he doesn’t have to feel so used, so hollow, so  _whorish_.

He’s even resorting to use the team-building dinner as his reason now, whatever that will take them out in the public as two normal people other than the romps in locker room or Wesker’s place. God he  _is_  pathetic.

But Wesker, well being Wesker, always sees through Chris as effortlessly as it counted. Of course he knows what the reason is behind all this, as far as Chris thinks he could go undetected in front of the captain.

“Humor everyone, or humor only you?”

Chris heard that alright, but he chooses to feign that he did, “What?”

Pretense is definitely not Chris’ forte and Wesker has already known that by now. Whether it comes to containing his temper or restraining himself on his bed, Wesker knows Chris inside out.

So he walks around his desk, around to the back of Chris’ chair as he places his hands on the corners of Chris’ shoulders, bending down to his ear level as he repeats, “I said, do you want me to humor everyone… ” he deliberately takes a hoarse breath through his mouth right next to his lobes, voice dropping dangerously low, “or just  _you_?”

Chris feels a shiver runs down his back, suddenly craving the chill back outside to calm the tension building like fire rising. The fingers—Wesker’s fingers work around his muscles, a technique he has grown familiar to whenever the captain tries to coax him into complying to the requests that would leave him helpless, needy and wanting by the end of it. Bearing the appointment hard in his mind however, Chris fights against it.

“J-join us for the dinner, p-please?”

Wesker doesn’t speak, his fingers trailing over his marksman’s collar circling his tips over the softness before he goes to the back of his arms again, moving down his warm skin. Then in a clean sweep, he cups Chris beneath his joints, wrapping his arms across his chest as he traps the younger male in place, leaving him gasping in shock at his behavior.

“Join who for dinner?”

“U-us, please…. Captain.” God he is so pathetically head over hee—no, he won’t let himself admit to it, ever.

In a fit of frustration at his dishonesty, Wesker drags Chris out of his chair, throwing the boy over his desk as papers scatter all over the ground, though not that the captain is in the particular mood to nitpick now. Bending over, he stares at the marksman once again, the coldness of his sunglasses seizing Chris in a voiceless tight yelp pleading with his fearful eyes. Fearful not for the man, fearful for what is coming.

“Have I told you not what I would do to you if you are dishonest again,  _Chris_?”

The way his name curls in Wesker’s mouth leaves Chris wanting more, squirming under his intense glare like he is visually stripped by those heartless sunglasses. All that for trying not to be  _whorish_ , the marksman knows he’s far from really doing so. Perhaps he could start by not begging, but then he remembered he had just used the word ‘please’ twice, furthermore in that needy voice he sighs into it. He’s off to a good head start, isn’t he?

Or maybe he can just start by giving good head perhaps?

To beg for Wesker’s mercy.

“W-Wesker… the d-dinner please, everyone’s waitin’…”

He yanks it, Chris’ shirt, such that upper buttons fly out of their stitches, pulling the cotton shirt called a uniform apart so that he sees the full view of those naked chest muscles, nipples shriveled up so hard out of fear or likely excitement from his coerce he would like to think. Thankfully he decided not to put the long johns on today, Wesker is too sure what would become of them if he actually did so.

Chris hisses, the aggression of a hidden pleasure he often takes delight in. Sticking his face hard against the surface of the desk, Chris leads Wesker to the contours of his neckline, allowing the exposure of a delicious view to the captain as he looks back at him with the corner of his eyes, needy.

Enticingly, Wesker delves into the naked skin, teeth grazing against the muscles stretched as Chris moans underneath him. Then he lets his tongue trail the line of the expanded vein, licking the hollowness beneath it before he goes over the protrusion again, sucking the hardened sticker as he reaches the bottom of his lobes. He goes behind his cartilage, rewetting the dry surface of his tongue as he rasps into his canal, waxing the inners with the moistness of it. The boy in his arms moans without restraint, a sound that Wesker enjoys whenever he takes the control over him for he finds his hands pressing against his shoulders, determined or not so determinedly trying to hold him back. He tastes his futile attempts, though not as raw as the restraint he would soon relinquish once he has him begging.

And he knows that won’t be long from now, Chris has always been a needy boy for affection.

Wesker grins, noticing Chris has turned around in his half-lidded eyes,  _whimpering_.

He lets his tongue flick around his ear, occasionally sucking his earlobe between his lips as his tongue plays with the trapped flesh. But once his mouth gets tired from holding that position, he breathes into the endless depth, leaving Chris hissing at the explosion of heat and volume then immediately quivering when his tongue fucks into it. The marksman grips onto the edge of the table desperately, not realizing the fact that Wesker isn’t even pinning him down because he  _wanted_  to stay down.

And be a good boy. So Wesker won’t hurt him later, won’t make him beg.

_Oh god, do that again, please._

Chris shakes violently. He feels a hand snaking along his thigh, the thickness of the cargo pants barely enough to reduce the sensitivity of his skin beneath it as he glides along Wesker’s movements. He rocks his hips into it, the palm finally stopping over the growing bulge in his pants as he hears the cooing sound of his fly slides down, a button pop from its loop. Ashamedly, or perhaps shamelessly, Chris rasps when he feels a warm hand squeezing into the band of his boxer briefs, fingernails scratching through the hair and skin until a fist grabs his shaft strongly and relentlessly. He groans at it, with Wesker rubbing his palm against the hardness and his fingers fiddling with his head, smirking in sheer control as the sticky substance coats his fingertips. He fondles some more, making sure he strokes Chris’ cock from head down all in good rhythm, watching the marksman writhes in pleasure.

“So… what about the dinner, Chris? Have you forgotten about it?”

He is doing this deliberately. Chris is too aware, he wants him to beg for more. Fighting to control the lust pooling in his groin, he battles hard until Wesker flips his cock out of the underwear, hand now jerking from end to end quickly, making the last of his determination fly out the window.

 _“W-wes…ker…”_  It is hopeless, Chris is long gone before he even knows it.

Pushing his fingers into Chris’ mouth, Wesker digs into the wet warmth as Chris sucks his lips onto it, tongue sliding in between the slit of two fingers as he bobs his head down then up, sighing wantonly in his erotic display. The captain helps by moving his fingers in and out of Chris, occasionally going deep into the back of Chris’ throat as the muffled moans increase, gagging.

Satisfied with the slickness, Wesker drags the coated digits out while he pulls the pants down to Chris’ knees, immediately twirling his tips over the puckered hole twitching. He could feel his entrance soft and ready, a gentle push would let him enter him without much effort for Chris shakes at his ministrations. He rubs the wet hole, teasing it as it convulses at his touches, drawing tight at once and relaxing into it at another. Throbbing, Chris unknowingly spreads his legs wider, grinding his hips and ass lower into Wesker’s caresses, trying to dip the captain’s fingers in but feels it move away every time he did so. This is driving him fucking insane, he wants Wesker in him right now.

“Dinner, Chris. You’re going to be late… if you don’t pack up and go now.”

It’s a taunt, one that Chris is too familiar with. He knows what he wants and he knows what Wesker wants even more. But that would mean he has to give in again, in order to feel those long slender fingers filling him up to the brim, drowning him in the ecstasy he craves. Chris tries to push down again but goddamn fucking Wesker, goddamn him for he keeps Chris in position with his other hand, pushing his inner thigh down onto the table securely. The marksman couldn’t move, and he is desperate for the loving.

_Just beg, Chris. You know what he wants._

_Beg and be a good boy, and you’ll get the candy you want._

_The long, hard, thick, mouthwatering popsicle right where you want it. Your mouth, your ass… take your pick._

Wesker circles his fingers around his ass again, kneading the firm cheeks as he splays them apart, digging nails into his entrance so teasingly that it breaks every resolve Chris has right up to now.

_“P-please Wesker… p-please, do it n-now…”_

And he grins, in the basking glory of his dominance over his subordinate once again as he bends down to his ears, gasping heavily, “There’s my good…  _boy_.”

Stacking two fingers together, he snaps them into the entrance without hesitation where Chris finds himself screaming with his broken voice, the digits stretching through the tightness right up to the hilt. Although his tender muscles felt scratched within, the burn left a bittersweet aftertaste that Chris adores, a feeling where he knows Wesker reels into him because he too, is  _addicted_  to him.

To his body, to his sluttiness, it didn’t matter. All that matters now is he has Wesker strapped onto him, his digits picking up a hasty rhythm as he thrusts into him. Chris rasps aloud, his hands gripping the furniture tighter than he had been while his body moves up and down over the papers, pushed by Wesker’s roughness. The captain keeps his legs far apart, watching his hardened cock bouncing up and down in his speed, occasionally stopping to scissor the tightening hole for it threatens to dry up from inside.

Until he finds it.

 _“T-there…! There again ….faster!”_  Chris urges.

That sweet sweet spot that would send Chris all over his knees, leaving him truly begging for more without shame.

So he brushes past it again, shifting his fingers at an angle that allows him to thrust upwards directly hitting it over and over. The sensation builds inside him, Chris finds himself unable to close his mouth because he is all out moaning and hissing, chanting Wesker’s name like the chorus of a song, softly and gently and desperately. His lips are all dried from his warm rasping but the momentum doesn’t let him off, he is barely catching his breath under Wesker’s thrusting.

_“W-wesker…! Oh Wesker…”_

Lifting Chris’ legs to his body now, Wesker arches his body over the young man, his fingers find easier access in this position as he leans in to kiss Chris, a moment where he knows the boy has been waiting for too long. He works his statement into his ass, reminding Chris again just who he belongs to, who he opens up so willingly for. Their lips collide messily in a fusion of lust and need, whispering names silently as they gasp for air periodically amidst the crashing. Loud kisses snaps out, Chris sucks Wesker’s lips greedily as he lets his hips move faster against Wesker’s pace. Shaking, the tension builds rapidly within him and in an unexpected moment, he lapses into another burning pleasure when Wesker eases a third finger into him.

“Say it, Chris. Or I won’t let you.”

Despite how enthusiastically Wesker has been indulging, Chris knows if he doesn’t comply to the captain, he will carry out what he says. Besides, he is too lust-hazed to find the determination he had before, he just wants to come fast, and come  _hard_.

_“Please… p-please let me… let me c-come, Wesker…”_

All in satisfaction, the captain pounds harder into the Chris, his middle finger digs deep into his prostate while the other two fingers push against it. He scrunches his finger in his ass, into the puckered hole and deep into his anal wetness. Chris is all let loose and wanton, voice filling up the entire room in an endless cry for completion and relief. In a quick reflex, Chris wraps his right hand over his cock and pumps it, putting every effort to ride the pleasure into climax as his cock reddens by the suffering.

It is tight, it is bursting, and god Chris knows he’s coming.

He is going to come all undone in front of Wesker, in that dirty shame of his whorishness again and again.

His seeds will splatter all over his stomach and he finds satisfaction in it.

Chris could feel the roughness of Wesker’s action slowly overstretching the comfort for he feels the aches setting in, the tiredness between his knees bucking in as he comes closer and closer.

_“Oh fuck, Wes…wes….”_

And just then, Wesker stops. As in literally, stops.

Chris is horrified, the pain in his cock is unbearable.

He nudges Wesker again but the latter is just watching him, observing him very closely. His hand is as still as night, and Chris would give anything for just a sway within.

“Dinner?” He is so motherfucking relentless.

Chris frowns, “You f-fucker.” He grits his teeth, trying to think about anything coherent but is unfortunately, cock-blocked.

Wesker grins.

“Y-you’d better do it here or take me h-home right now and fuck the living d-daylights outta me because y-you’d owed me that much and my cock fuckin’ h-hurts,” Chris scowls, speaking the truth because it is the only thing he can think of.

Then there is that annoying smugly smirk on his face again Chris notes, while the captain removes his fingers and steps towards the door to retrieve his trench coat before throwing it over to Chris. Surprised, he quickly pulls the clothing over his body as he fumbles with his pants, pushing the hard cock in as carefully as he can, gasping at the contact with anything that comes into it. The hell he is going to just jerk himself and let Wesker enjoy him suffering, that asshole piece of a captain owes him.

“My place then, though I had been considering to join the dinner… in fact.”

Oh that piece of trash. What a big fat fucking liar he is.


	4. Suite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU.

Finally the conference has ended, a nightmarish three days for the Chief Executive Officer of the biggest American Trading Company in Switzerland. It had been a grueling session, where multiple corporations attempted to thwart his plans in buying over the Pharmaceutical industry that had lain dormant for the past few years. But he knows what these old geezers had planned in their minds, so he has done his very best to wreck every bit of it.

So now after winning the war that had lasted over the past six months, the businessman rested peacefully, sound sleep nursing his deprivation of it. This is his seventh trip to Switzerland this year, but not once granting him the opportunity to visit the land and enjoy its beauty as a tourist attraction. It has always been arriving, working and then leaving. He spends most of his time in this very suite he specifically chose. The same curtains, the same furniture, the same  _bed_ … the fond memories made on this bed.

“Good morning, Mr. Redfield.”

A young voice wakes him up. He knows this voice at the back of his hand.

“Piers?”

The young male stands by his bed, clad in butler uniform with the breakfast tray in his hand. The perfect morning he enjoys waking up every time he spends his time in Switzerland. His beautiful face, his beautiful voice and more importantly, that beautiful body he has held in more than one occasion.

He has been a subtle boy. The first time he met him was two years ago. He was a boy without a family background that he was proud to share, and all the entrepreneur knew about him was how much the boy sincerely enjoyed his job, professionally providing any form of assistance that would satisfy a pleasant experience for his guests. Chris had a first taste of that fine  _professionalism_ , when his casual fooling turned into a precious memory that he holds so closely even until now.

It was because of that that Piers Nivans is now his personal attendee whenever he stays in the hotel. Since money makes the world go round, he is willing to pay any amount just so he can have Piers’ full attention whenever he needs it.

Like right now, this morning wood springing beneath his berms as the duvet slips off his legs.

Chris stirs awake from the sleepiness, an occasional yawn passing his lips as he scratches the back of his head, the blurry vision clearing out as Piers comes into it. He smiles warmly, telling the boy to set the breakfast aside because he wants him beside him right now. Piers did as he was told, straightening his uniform before he dips gently onto the bed, the lower of his back leaning against the hard wick of the guest’s body. Chris doesn’t hesitate to pull the boy into his arms, sitting up immediately to push the butler against his body where his hands find his ways to his apron, thumbing under the top of the black apparel loosening the tightness.

“Sir?” His voice is meek and anticipatory, all too aware of the hardness pressing against the hilt of his ass.

“I want you now,” Chris speaks boldly, his hands finally getting rid of the apron as he slips them over the boy’s mild arousal.

“B-but, I’ve got other errands to see to…” His resistance is weak, soft moans escaping his lips as he feels the guest working around his hardness, palming the bulge in gentle strokes and languid moves.

Chris frowns at his response, voice hard, “What errands? You’re specifically to attend to me, have you forgotten?” He gives a hard squeeze on the boy’s crotch, proudly drawing that breathless yelp from his tightly drawn lips.

Piers groans in detest, but the older male’s hands are treating him with so much love that he is unable to put up a fight so obediently, he runs his hands along the side of Mr. Redfield’s thighs, adjusting his body so that he could part his legs slightly wider for him. Chris doesn’t let it go unnoticed, dipping his right hand deep under him as his palm massages his sac beneath, the other hand spreading his caresses all over the stiff cock suppressed underneath the tight pants.

“Mrs… Mrs. Lienna of R-Room 904 needs… needs me to write-write a letter on behalf to-to her husband…” Mr. Redfield’s hands work wonders around his groin, Piers could barely hold his voice as he tries to reason his needed errand, small cusses leaving his polite mouth when the guest removes the zipper on his pants, hand running over his shamelessly wet brief beneath, “ _Oh… shit, shit…_ ”

Grinning, the businessman teases the wet underpants, rubbing the pads of his index and third finger over the translucent sticky wetness as the boy trembles in his arms. Then focusing along the contours of the shaft, he glides his digits over the bulge in slow strokes, watching the young male whimpering silently while biting his lower lip intensely, breathing deeply with each brush. Chris smirks at the rasping, removing his hand beneath to clasp it firmly around the boy’s neck, then yanking his head onto his shoulders as he whispers against his flushed cheeks.

“ _Write?_ ” Twisting its enunciation, the entrepreneur croaks, “The only thing you’re going to be  _riding_ … is me.”

Piers shudders, the sultry voice sliding down his back weakens his resolve to go against it. Turning around, he watches the guest slinks back onto the king-sized bed, the bulge in his pants ever so prominently seeking his attention. Carefully standing up on the bed, Piers closes his eyes tightly as he removes the apron, slipping his pants and underwear in plain sight for the other to see. Chris enjoys the show, with the small shaking rattling off the young male’s lithe legs as he crawls over his legs, slowly coming down to straddle his hips.

His cock peeks from the edges of his white shirt while he rubs his ass over Mr. Redfield’s hardness, letting the shaft slide between his ass grinding against his entrance and sac. Piers moans loudly, the sheer friction calling forth his primitive urges where he wraps a hand around his own cock, jerking his clogged up frustration buried deep down in his heated lust. Chris breathes heavily under Piers, watching him with legs wide apart, hand moving quicker and faster, bringing his own need closer to the edge in an uncontrolled wave of gasping and swearing. The older male feels his cock getting harder by the minute, the glorious sight of his boy being so wanton and needy drives the predatorily carnal side of him out.

“Hurry up,” Chris groans, frustrated and impatient to taste that sweet ass waiting. “If you wanna get back to your work, you know what to do.”

Finally bringing himself to stop thrusting his ass against the hardness beneath him, Piers shakily lifts his body off Mr. Redfield, hands carefully unfolding his guest’s pants as the shaft springs up from the constriction, sitting up straight aiming at him. Piers gives a few quick jerks, heart thumping at the heavy organ as he coats the slickness flowing out of it all over, then over his entrance. Carefully lowering himself, he aligns the throbbing meat in his hand as he guides it through his unprepared entrance, hissing as his head penetrates the tight ring of muscles before he stops at it, trying to allow his body to get use to the foreign sensation. His hand grips firmly around Mr. Redfield’s cock, sliding it down and up in small movements when he stills for a moment, then slowly pushing it in again while he plunges down at the same time. Chris gasps throatily, no matter how many times he has taken this piece of ass, it still feels strangely  _cherry_  each time he fucks him again.

 _“Shit, shit… fuck…”_  Piers cusses under his breath feeling the hardness thrusts into him completely. He could feel his body shaking unstoppably, the girth stretching him so much more than he thought he could withstand.

“C’mon baby, move.” Gently placing his hands over Piers’ thighs, Chris rubs in circular motion to soothe the boy’s tension, earning a weak smile when Piers leans back, hands pressing against his knees and feet flat against the bed face supporting his body. Slowly, Piers lifts his body up before he drops it down again, repeating the vertical thrusting as smoothly as their wetness allows them to.

Picking up speed, Piers finds his thrusting gradually smoother as he continues to ride, parting the distance further apart before he slams right back down onto the guest’s body. Chris could feel the muscles tightening around his shaft each time Piers drops his body back onto his hips, the heat trapped inside warming his tip as much as Piers’ ass could provide. He grips his hips hard now, making sure to leave bruises that could last for days as he rams into the boy drown in his own ecstasy. Piers gasps in shock, feeling his prostate being abused thoroughly in Mr. Redfield’s brutal banging, his cock hitting that good spot over and over.

_“Fuck… shit fuck, this… oh god…”_

“Can’t talk, hmm?” Chris teases viciously, “Can’t word because I’m fucking you so good?”

 _“Yeah, shit…”_  Piers gasps, throat greedy for air as the thrusting punishes him deeper,  _“Good g-god Mr. Red-redfield, so g-good…”_

“What’s so good?” Keeping the brutal pace up, Chris fucks hard into his ass, so much so that Piers is already too weak to move, letting the entrepreneur ruin him in every way he wants to. “Say it.”

Brought out of his trance, Piers bends forward, hands pressing against the broad naked chest of his guest as he whispers breathlessly, body rocking hard despite his ass starting to feel sore and bursting,  _“Your c-cock, s-sir… fucks me so, so good…”_

Satisfied, Chris pulls himself off the bed as he clasps Piers’ lower back tightly, pressing their bodies as close as he could together. Feeling their skin touching, Piers throws his hands to the back of Mr. Redfield’s neck as he matches his movement to his speed, slamming back against him whenever he thrusts upwards, feeling him as deep as he could reach into. Then desperately, he searches for the older male’s lips, hungrily searching for relieve in those luscious lips that he bites into, kissing thoroughly in a messy fashion. Chris lets his boy do as he pleases, pushing his tongue in as Piers nibbles it, overlapping tongues with one another until he breaks to breathe before going back for more. His intoxicating skin-deep cologne scent and cigarette-stench huffs, rough calluses sliding all over Piers’ own body, Piers writhes in pleasure, sinking deep into his companion’s groin as he rolls his hips round and round, snapping kisses loudly in between.

“You’re so sexy right now, you know that?” Chris moans, enjoying the tender treatment Piers moves in.

_“Oh mister… for you, and only…  you.”_

His whisper wets a trail down Chris’ naked back before he picks up his pace again. He sets a bruising pace, bringing the both of them closer to brink, watching Piers almost toppling over before he grabs his shoulders tightly, riding his fucking senselessly. One hand leaves the embrace and Chris wraps it around the boy’s crying hardness, harshly rubbing his climax in swift strokes and it didn’t take him long before Piers comes completely in his hand. Eyes shutting tight as an octave pitch escape his throat, Piers screams his name in all glory as thin ropes of cum shot spurts from his tip, creaming his chest while Chris empties his chambers in a hard thrust, pouring his seeds deep into the boy before he quickly pulls out. Nevertheless as he does so, the remnants of his thick juices continue to coat the entrance of his pulsating hole after he removes it, twitching in scarlet soreness.

Piers falls forward, head resting on the guest’s shoulders now for his weak hands loosen their hold, sliding down back face first onto the sheets. Watching the beautiful boy all loose and satisfied has always been a secret enjoyment Chris indulges in, so he brings the boy back onto the bed with him, a hand running through his fine hair as he watch the beautiful attendee places another kiss to his lips, sweet and innocent as compared to what they had previously engaged in.

Seventh’s quite the charm they once said, well why not then?

“Quit the job and come to the States with me. Let me take care of you.”

Piers looks baffled at the suggestion, never once in his wildest dream he would hear these words coming from the one man he lets himself up for.

“I mean it. Come with me.” Chris is sincere, using every bit of the seriousness in his undertone, expression and whatever he needs to do, which he then pulls the boy close into his body again.

Musing, Piers quietly smiles to himself before he does at Mr. Redfield, “What would I do there?”

“Anything. Anything you wish. School, job, or stay as my house pet, whatever you wish.”

“House pet?” Piers quirks an eyebrow.

“Yeah…” Chris grins, “You know like one of those little pets curled up in my bed, waiting for me to come home every night so that I can take you over and over…  _and over again_.”

Laughing this time, Piers lands a playful punch against the guest, then quietly whispers in his ears shyly, “No… no _‘I-love-you’_ messages to coax me into it?”

A little hesitant at his request, Chris pauses shortly before he places his lips over Piers’, gently nipping as he opens his eyes in it, speaking softly in that most earnest voice he could to carry all his feelings across to him once their lips stop.

_“I need you.”_


	5. Grease

Piers has been eyeing at that broken piece of jeep Chris brought back two nights ago. He insisted that it belonged to Jill and had wanted to fix it as a Christmas surprise since the girl had given up spending money on the broken junk and thought of buying something else was better worth her money. But Chris had known better, the jeep was a sentimental token between them since the B.S.A.A. started and he’d be damned if he doesn’t try to get it better.

Piers wasn’t against it… not until he decided that today was Christmas’ eve and he wanted some goddamn time to themselves. And that was not because he couldn’t keep it in his pants either… until he saw Chris bent over the hood of the car, fixing the pipes in that old dirty jumpsuit, grease and grim over his head and arms showing from folded sleeves, sweaty and angry at the vehicle that wouldn’t start itself up. That frustration left Piers grinning, Chris wiping another line of sweat along his forehead away as he bent over once more, ass propped so ever enticingly before Piers.

_Oh, wouldn’t it be fun if we switch tables tonight, captain?_

Letting his instincts walk the talk, Piers finds himself in a split second right behind Chris, one hand snaking under Chris’ chest as it slips into the one-piece, rubbing his nipple under the blue clothing. That caught Chris by surprise, but stalled to complain when he felt Piers grinding his hips against his ass tightly, the specific shape of his crotch printed so deep that he moans slightly under Piers’ enthusiasm. It’s not an everyday thing he got to see Piers being needy like this, that he would take the led in the dance.

“Still busy, grease monkey? Got a little time for your puppy?”

And when Piers decides to play dirty, there is no way in hell Chris is going to miss that for the world.

“I always have time for my puppy.”

Smirking, Piers pulls Chris out of the hood as he slams the cover down, then pushes him over it and leans over him impatiently. Chris blinks at Piers’ aggressiveness, a fire sparkling in his eyes warning him that he may not leave unscathed by the break of Christmas morning tomorrow. If the kid is good enough, maybe paralyzed even.

“Except right now, your puppy doesn’t feel puppy at all.”

Chris snickers, the excitement growing stronger while the fire burns wilder in his partner’s eyes, “So what’s my puppy now?” 

Sliding his hands under the open suit, Piers spreads his hands across Chris’ chest once more, now with both hands pinching and tugging at the older man’s nipples leaving him gasping for air. He chaffs teasingly, rolling the hardened nubs between his fingers for they grow harder, stout and piquant before Piers bends down to have a taste of it. Chris squirms at the moist tongue playing at it, then rasps when he felt teeth gritting it. The flicking of the tongue was sensational, the rapid flicks pushing it up and down send signals downwards. 

The soft groans escape Chris’ mouth excites Piers even further as he pushes his thighs further apart, so much so that he brings them up onto the hood to position himself better. Pressing his hardness against Chris’ once more, the older man moans louder where Piers eagerly crushes his lips to seal his voice up. His tongue wrestles with the older man’s, winning the dominance for his hands rip the flaps apart, exposing his torso in plain sight. The captain grabs the edge of the car hood tightly, feeling the grinding almost tearing through his pants. 

Piers moaned wickedly, a hand pulling down to grab Chris’ cock in one go, “Your fucking officer. On your knees, Redfield.”

Something chills his entire back, so uncontrollable that Chris does it, the captain of the Alpha team falling to his knees, hands gripping the sides of Piers’ jeans weakly as the commanding officer stares at him, grinning. 

“You know what to do, big boy.” 

Without hesitating, Chris licks his inner lips, teeth biting between the zipper as he pulls the fly down slowly, then hands unbuckling Piers’ pants so that it falls to the ground. The ace, or officer now, switches position with Chris such that he leans against the hood now, yanking Chris by the hair to his cock springing in sight. And Chris goes for it, taking the flesh in one mouth and works hard on it. Dragging his head back, he bobs his head back down in a fluid movement, trained like an experienced cock-sucker who would do anything for a raise in the army.

Piers ruffles his short hair in circular motion, sucking in deep breaths as Chris does so for his erection, “Uh, yeah. Take it all the way down, soldier.” 

_Shit, Chris never knew Piers playing captain would be this intoxicating._

While in between gagging and taking some of that precum down his throat, Chris reaches a hand into his suit, sliding down into the vestige as he pulls his cock out, rubbing the swollen length as he runs it slowly. Piers watches intently,  _enticingly_ , gasping at the plain sight that his real captain is on his knees worshiping his cock and nursing his own, hungry for that shaft sliding in and out of his mouth and swallowing his seeds like his life depended on it.

“Ugh… so good. So you like cocks that much, huh soldier?” 

Chris grunts in line, muffling in his strokes before he pulls out, spread over his lips and oozes down from the corner of his mouth. He gives his head another tease, grinning in lust answering, “Only yours, sir.” 

Then he goes back sucking the throbbing cock, where Piers moans uncontrollably fisting Chris’ hair even harder than before.

_Fuck, Chris obeying him like the good boy he is turns Piers so madly on._

So unrestrained, Piers grabs the sides of Chris’ head still and lock him in place. Giving no time for Chris to expect what is coming, Piers fucks hard into Chris’ mouth, causing the older man to grip tightly on Piers’ thighs, taking the heat for as long as he could before he started coughing and tearing. Piers is so out of the common demeanor he portrays himself in and Chris is surprised by it, wondering how long the boy has been thinking about taking him so wildly and raw. 

When Piers learnt that Chris is gagging from his thrusting, he stops instantly to pick the older man off the ground. He wraps a hand behind Chris’ back and smashes his lips against his, just messily kissing and keeping the comfort tender so it doesn’t break the heated pace. Throwing his real captain back onto the hood, Piers yanks the one-piece off his body, pressing legs over his chest and demands Chris to hold them. Chris shivers in anticipation, watching Piers abandoning the condom tonight as he spits into his hand, then rubbing his length to lubricate it the best as he could before lining it at his puckered hole. 

“Ready for this cock you so want it, big boy?” Piers’ voice is needy, almost cold yet filled with hunger that consumed all of Chris’ desire. The older man nods, breathing through his mouth causing his voice to break at ends, sounding wordless by the desperation.

In a swift stroke, Piers sinks into Chris in one go, no slow adjustments or penetration. Just one smooth and hard thrust that left the older man shriveling in cold excitement, breaking sweat all over his forehead as he cusses loudly in the garage. But Piers doesn’t lose the momentum and he quickly withdraws before plunging into the tight entrance again, increasing his own speed each and every time he repeats the action. Chris gasps for air, hands desperately gripping onto the edge as his body rocks with Piers. 

Hands pressed over Chris’ ass, Piers pushes his cheeks as far apart as he could, eyes leering at the reddened hole and his own cock reappearing and disappearing into it. 

_Like a hungry cunt who can’t stop having more of his meat._

“You like that, huh soldier? You like this cock thrusting into your hole so much, huh?”

 _“Yess sir…”_  with the ‘s’ hissing at the back of it, “your cock’s so good,  _—ssir…._ ”

Then when Piers leans slightly forward, he tilts his angle a little different from the previous downwards that he goes so deep, Chris lets out an uncharacteristic moan that tickles him so raw in his groin.  _He has got to hear that again._  So he strikes the same spot again, and finds Chris’ hands grabbing on his arms, face all flushed red and wanton in heat. His mouth wouldn’t shut it like a loose tap, continuously grunting and cussing louder with each go that he is almost setting the alarms off in the neighborhood. 

Piers smirks victoriously, the satisfaction going straight to his groin as he strikes his prostate again, “A little loud don’t you think so, Redfield?” 

Chris tries to swallow a breath, whimpering in sexual delight, “—can’t, can’t help it, s-sir…. you f-fuck so good….”

Then he brings the back of his hand over to muffle his mouth, ending his response with a bodily need that sets Piers on fire,  _“…and I can’t help wanting for m-more…”_

So Piers gives it to him. Breaking him, he pounds into his ass, feeling the tightness building but relentlessly fucks into it. Chris cries in sweet agony, taking the brutal banging in every way that he could, or his body could. He begins losing his grip on his legs, thankful that Piers decides to take over as he swings his legs over his shoulders while he almost clambers over his lover, unleashing all his dominance over him. The control he has over Chris is so addictive, watching Chris writhe beneath is so alluring, Piers submits to his primitive instincts, huffing and puffing hot breaths between hisses as Chris moans his name shamelessly.

Loosening his hand attached to his lips, Chris loses himself into oblivion, “Fuck, Piers… harder, harder.”

“Cap-captain…” their basic instincts returning, Piers complies to his best.

_“F-fuck me like you m-mean it, baby.”_

And that was all it took for Piers to give the rest of his effort, pumping and stroking Chris’ cock in the midst of his thrusting. Chris shivers in his own need, hands reaching for his own ass as he pulls his own cheeks apart again, knowing how tight he was because he knew how sore he felt. Piers relinquishes in the aid, the sliding smoother only by a little because even god couldn’t help how badly his insides was burnt by Piers’ bruising pace. The brutal fucking could leave him bedridden tomorrow, but that was exactly Piers’ plan to continue their rendezvous all over again. 

By the ends of Chris’ resilience, he feels the tension snapping and his edge is nearing. Barely regaining his ability to speak, he whispers softly for this throat has dried up in the crying. 

“—c-close…” 

Piers lets his hand go as he brings Chris’ hand over to his own cock, holding his hand over his as they rub the swollen flesh together, “Blow that load for me, honey.” 

No sooner after Chris sets his mind to it, the edge that he stood, the fulfillment he compelled into. He comes hard in sight, the strings of cum shooting over his chest, drooling down his contours as Piers moves to squeeze every remaining drop out of him. Feeling the hot seeds over his body, it didn’t take long before Chris felt something even hotter shot right up on his ass, filling his insides completely and warming all the tensed muscles. He moans in rhapsody, ass tightening when Piers empties himself into him. The tiny cussing mouthing from the good soldier reverberates in Chris’ ears, the sensation of his aggressiveness marking his mind.

Leaning over Chris, the real captain wraps his hand over his back as they draw a lazy kiss together. Eyes never leaving one another, they smile in their afterglow mischievously.

“That was… kinda bold coming from you, hmm?” Chris had to ask, curiosity taking the better hand.

Piers grins shyly, “…had been curious about it, …for some time.”

“And…?”

“You’re fucking unbelievable.” 

Chris laughs at that, “That’s what age does to you. And I can barely feel my legs now.”

Well hearing that, Piers smirks, “That’s all part of my plan.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“I won’t be the only one bedridden tomorrow, …just so you know, soldier.”

Piers cocks an eye in surprise, “That coming from a man who can’t feel his legs? Surprise me.”

And in a sudden moment, Chris leaps onto his feet and pulls Piers over his shoulders, _surprising_  the hell outta the sniper who is now pounding his back at the embarrassment of him being tossed over like a sack of grocery.

“Put me down! I thought you can’t move!”

“I said I can’t then, didn’t say I can’t now. That’s  _my_  Christmas surprise, baby. Unlimited stamina. I’m gonna break you so hard.”

Piers holds a breath down, that dangerous voice slinking down his back makes him anticipate how far Chris would go to  _surprise_  him even further than this now.

_“Surprise me then… Captain.”_


	6. Cupcake

To pounce or not to pounce is the question.

It happens on every eve of the New Year, crime rates go up and phone lines burst their limits in celebration of the coming year. Chris has seen it from the TV when he was in the Air Force for seven consecutive years. Now to be a part of the sweep on the street, there is an inexplicable amount of respect he suddenly gives to all branches of the police force for being able to tolerate this nonsense throughout their career. And for S.T.A.R.S. to be involved in it, it only goes to show how much the force needed every help they could get.

So coming home at 11:00 in the night is totally to be expected. Chris knows he will be doing the late hours, but what he didn’t expect is Wesker burning midnight oil to finish the paperwork.

And what’s worse? That prick  _volunteered_  to stay and finish the work before the night is over.

Which fucking asshole, stays in for work on fucking New Years' Eve?

Chris is now deciding between the pitcher of iced water and the piece of antique at the corner of the living room for which to suffer his wrath. But considering the fact that Wesker had bought the antique from a charity auction because Chris mindlessly said that would be a great way to donate money to the charity organization inconspicuously, the marksman has to feel a little softer on that piece of work crafted by hand by a dozen of children who couldn’t speak. He also took in consideration the fact that despite Wesker looked as if he was just paying attention to the papers that morning, he actually listened to what he was saying.

Inadvertently, that also meant the pitcher has to go.

Except, this pitcher was one of those little accessories he had gone out with Wesker together to shop at ‘Bed Bath and Beyond’ when he complained the captain’s apartment is too empty for his own good.

And if he intends to hold back for that thought, that basically meant the entire kitchen is out of bounds, as well as the photo frames of them in Chris’ stubbornness to stick around the apartment. In spite the constant demands from Wesker to remove them, the blonde eventually gave into his young partner’s childish requests and kept them.

Therefore trailing these photos, Chris finds himself now standing in Wesker’s bedroom, _technically their bedroom now_ , as he picks up the frame right next to their bed. This one was special, is still in fact, because it is one that Wesker placed it himself right next to the bed stand, next to his side of the bed, something he definitely has to see every night before he goes to sleep and every morning he wakes up to.

That thought makes Chris’ heart thump crazily that night, which led to some really crazy hot sex because he was gamed to do anything Wesker would have requested then, and safe to say right now, the mild flutter still lingers in him somewhere.

So this is not going to work out like Chris thought he could.

He desperately needs something to smash, watch it break and whimper in its own agony like his heart feels like it is about to. The house is so silent that he is about to lose it.

11:47PM. No keys at the door.

Chris slouches back to the living room, noticing the newspaper sitting on the couch that he simply grabs and throws it near the door. Snatching the cushion on the couch, he cuddles the measly little bag of cotton tightly in his arms, hoping for something way bigger that this, with heat and warmth and arms to pull him into some reassurance so he could fight this loneliness away.

This is not helping.

Maybe some TV would be better.

But fuck, what else could be on the TV other than holiday festive shows broadcasting people kissing, hugging, making out, standing in the midst of a human ocean in front of Times Square confessing shit and god, is that the sixth time he heard the words “I love you” over the last five minutes?

He switches the TV off immediately.

That’s it. That’s fucking it.

 _To hell with Wesker if he loves the overtime paperwork more._  He’s going to get some sleep right now.

11:54PM. Keys at the door.

Chris stops walking midway towards the room. The door swings open in his disbelief. There the captain is, covered in snow with his briefcase in one hand and a paper bag in the other. He is beyond words staring at the man who loves his paperwork more than him in their hallway, staring right back at him as though he has seen a ghost or something.

Where, the chance of this being a ghostly illusion is much higher than the real person actually standing here is.

“What are you doing there standing like you’ve seen a ghost?” Wesker mutters nonchalantly, setting his coat over the dress stand by the door as he sets his briefcase and paper bag on the table counter. Stepping into the living room, he sweeps the newspaper off the floor as he passes by Chris, quietly sitting on the couch as he flips the papers open, reading late news.

But as he may have already known, Chris isn’t as forgiving as that.

The marksman contemplates to throw Wesker’s briefcase on the floor and even happily stepping over the fine leather to ruin it completely. Or maybe, he would even take all the paperwork stored inside it out to burn it in front of Wesker, and then tell him how much he deserved it. Yup, that was what he intended to do until he decides to open the paper bag sitting innocently on top of the counter, where Chris is treated to the biggest surprise from Wesker he hasn’t had since months ago.

Excluding sex. Sex is always  _a big surprise_ to anticipate around Wesker.

And goddamn how was Chris supposed to guess that inside the paper bag was a stupid cupcake from that favorite bakery he loved a couple of streets away and a crumb-sized card that read “Happy New Year” in what Chris believed is Wesker’s handwriting?

Is that the reason why he feigned he had paperwork to complete? To get him this stupid thing and give him a heart attack?

Running back to the couch, Chris stares at Wesker for the longest time before his scrunitize irritated the blonde at 11:58PM.

“I thought you had paperwork?”

“Yes I did. I finished it earlier than I thought I could.”

“And the cupcake?” Chris is trying to stop himself from grinning, or in fact tearing.

“I drove past the bakery since there was a human parade of party outside.”

Bullshit, there’s no party. Not that Chris saw any on their  _usual_  way back home.

“And the card?” Hah, he would so love to see him defend himself on this one.

“What card?”

“The card in the paper bag with the cupcake!” Chris is exasperated.

“Oh  _that_  card. I had intended for  _one_  of the children of the welfare society who needed _constant care and concern_  from being  _lonely_  on the New Year Eve because  _he_  couldn’t be left  _on his own_  to deal with the love in the air or on the streets.”

 _Goddamn you Albert Wesker, motherfuckin’ goddamn you,_  Chris cussed.

And this is the moment where Chris cannot decipher if those tears falling are from joy that Wesker bothered coming back to celebrate crossing into New Year with him or anger for being such a dick like he always is.

“And the time is 11:59:07PM. Is the  _one_  I’m talking about, supposedly going to wriggle his way onto my lap and spend the New Year countdown like the way he  _pictured in his head_?”

To pounce or not to pounce is the question.

Shit, Chris couldn’t take it anymore.

So quickly, he clambers beneath the papers and into Wesker’s body while the blonde continued holding the papers up high, behaving as though he is reading it when in fact he is just watching Chris squirm in his arms, snuggling into his body warmth like a little puppy.

Chris secretly thanked the heavens for bringing Wesker back to him on this night. He really didn’t want to do this alone, admittedly.

“I thought…” Wesker is beginning to hear sobs in Chris’ soft voice, “I thought you wanted to stay for the paperwork more than anything… more than anybody… m-mattered to you…” The sobbing has clearly turned into something more drastic than Wesker could have imagined.

“It mattered simply because if I didn’t clear them up before Chief Irons questions it, I’ll not be able to take the day off tomorrow and spend time home.”

Day off tomorrow? Spend time home? Were those Wesker’s real concerns all along?

Now the marksman is beyond words, expressing his gratitude by throwing his body gestures and that meant hugging Wesker as tightly as he could.

“You… you could have just… told me.” Chris whispers, tears drying up as the look of bliss brightens his face completely, forgetting all those tiny immature stunts he was trying to pull out of his anger.

“When was I one ever to tell you trivial things like this?” Wesker’s voice is still as neutral since the beginning, but Chris isn’t about to complain now that he is here with him.

And  _boom!_  12:00:19AM, the fireworks are heard from a distance away. Sound took some time to travel to where they are and Chris instinctively leans back to draw Wesker into a slow kiss. The blonde joins his merriment, lips slowly exploring one another until their mouths parted and he takes over the dance as usual.

“Happy New Year… Albert.” Chris mutters in between the soft rasps, not wanting to the break the kiss since it has been a while since they engaged in something as mild and sensual as this, instead of the hard and rugged stuff they usually commit to.

Though grunting at his first name being heard, Wesker relinquishes that tiny complaint and drops the paper to the ground, slowly moving Chris onto the couch as he leans over him, looking into his cheerful eyes.

It is still a mystery how Chris has this ability to move him at unexpected moments.

“Happy New Year, Christopher.” As he says that, he leans over to kiss him gently over the forehead, before going back to his lips.

Which he then grins, slinking Chris deep into the cushion as he watches those hungry eyes preying at him, “And you owe me lots of sex tomorrow, for being a demanding puppy for the entire day.”

And Chris will gladly give anything just to spend the new start of the New Year as long as he is with Wesker.


	7. Trapped

He knows he shouldn’t have left in a fit of anger. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t be in the walkways on the rural side of Macedonia now, left alone to defend for himself. The captain might have led a search squad looking for him now, but he isn’t too sure if he wants to be found at all. Not after the quarrel he just had with him.

That was two hours ago.

Right now, he has to be found.

The blood trails would expose him in a matter of minutes of someone found it, or perhaps seconds if an animal picked up the scent. Piers manages to drag his body to a secluded area of the ruins. At least, he hopes it is secluded. Tearing the slit fabric of his army pants carefully, he grabs the antiseptic can from his med kit and sprays its contents all over his bleeding wound. He bit the ammo magazine between his teeth intensely, so hard that blood would seep through if he had those teeth over his lips instead. The searing pain locked in the fresh wound almost sent his eyes tearing if not for his stubborn resilience.

With hands shaking as he puts the can away, he peers at the injury once more. Bone almost visible beneath the jarred mesh of muscles and tissues. If the antiseptic doesn’t slow the bleeding down, he knows he won’t be able to make it through the night.

Not even half through the night.

Damn those bear traps. The civilians are completely deranged putting these things out to keep themselves safe from whatever they are afraid of.

Footsteps.

Piers tries to hold his breath calmly, breathing as slowly as he can hearing the sound of footwork brushing past the window just above his head. He is completely hidden in the shadows thankfully, the moonlight shining through the glass giving nothing away as he clasps the handles of his MP-AF tightly.

One wrong move brings hell on Earth straight for him.

Some mumbling is heard from the window, incandescent words that Piers couldn’t make out off. If the bleeding isn’t going to kill him at this rate, the infection manifesting from the wound might do so faster. He has his wound exposed in the fallen night, dead autumn plunging temperatures below ten degrees or so. Perhaps the preps might pick up his stale blood and charge through that door that he has his rifle pointing at right now.

One sound determines his destiny.

But luck hasn’t deserted him it seems, for the hostiles are heard moving further away from his location. The grunts disappear in the cold air, and Piers finds a sigh relieved from his lips. He pulls his feet close, bending his knees slowly to prevent the pain from spreading. It clearly isn’t working however.

The dust and bits of grains stuck on his wound is unsightly, though not something he hasn’t seen before. Pain however, is the unfamiliar acquaintance to him now. Often he has imagined the degree of damage he may have to endure and how he would brace through the flame, may it be bullets raining or knife slitting. As the sight of the death trap griping his appendage flashes across his eyes again, such immense amount of pain never once crossed his mind. Blood begins to ooze from the wound again, the antiseptic didn’t manage to cut it off. Hygiene unaccountable, Piers picks up the remains of the can to coat the wound with the medication one last time, the sting long gone in the numbness while he reaches for the bandages. Tightening the ends as he pulls the wrap, he coils it around his legs until the cloth runs out on its own, knotting the ends together.

Then he sits in the silence, completely still completely motionless.

The radio isn’t working. Perhaps the signal has been blocked or he has wandered out of range.

Another long hour passes. Then two, then three.

They said when death is about to come at your door, your brain releases neurons which increase brain activity. That basically meant one may experience an out-of-body experience or a sever fluctuation of emotions before they die. For Piers, whether the grim reaper is beyond the door he is still guarding, he sees something different. Lips cracking, he laces the back of his tongue over it one last time, feeling parched from the dehydration and cold from body heat loss. He fights to keep his eyes open, the cold wind touching his face pierces through his skin, almost breaking his concentration every now and then.

He is aware of how pale he is from the loss of blood.

He is aware how dangerously low his body temperature has plunged due to the inactivity over the last three hours.

Struggling, he vowed never to give up under any circumstances.

Pressing down the radio once more, hopes carry through…

There is a lot he has yet to say, the wonders of pre-death shaking him up. Alpha might still be out looking for him. The captain would, he is sure of, to keep his promise that he will leave no one behind. Even if he has to crawl, he needs to find a way back to his comrades. _Don’t ever give up_ , were the last words his father taught him before he stepped out of the door.

…but dashed in a matter of seconds when static returns.

Exhaustion claims him. His rifle slightly slides from his hands as his head drops to his chest. The activity surges again, this time even more vivid than before. He sees paradise, or a place white and glistening where peace and tranquility co-exists. Above the pool sitting in the middle of paradise, he sees a familiar face waiting for him.

Smiling, teeth peeking through parted lips.

He races towards it, the pain and the agony vanished from his leg. He could feel his heart pounding wildly, redness almost flushing throughout his body as the blood tightens in his vessels. Nearing the pools, he watches the silhouette gradually growing in size, the smile radiating blossoming ever so brightly as he reaches out for it.

So close he is, so very close they are.

Brunette standing in the B.S.A.A. uniform he is so used to. Old blue, mud and dirt over his sleeves, clad in the gear made for the team. The thick ballistic vest holding his ammunitions and grenades, as well as the combat knife attached onto his utility belt. Although kneepads scratched and bruised, he appears victorious in the midst of the lonely waters. Piers could even see their emblem as well as the “SOU” patched onto his sleeves.

His lips begin to move on their own, quivering.

One hand reaching out, chasing the silhouette of the man he admired since the day he met him on papers, read him from a column and spoke to him in person.

But not once spoken about the unessential feelings of the heart to him.

Seeing him now, his brain tells him he should. That ever-radiant smile would never desert him even in the coldest rain. A sting is but all he feels. He swear truth over his broken heart, there is nothing more than his desire to speak plainly about these uncorrupted devotions he harbors, if he knows, if he would ever reciprocate.

Piers is so frightened. This must have been a foolish hope to dream on.

Then in this traverse realm he awakes to, his feet falls through the waters and his body sinks into the pool. Petrified, he struggles for surface but the current only swallows him deeper into the abyss. Bloodshot eyes staring at the smile glowing at him above waters, Piers reaches out in desperation, more air escaping his throat bubbling through. Eyes struggling now, he shuts them to wash the sting seeping through his sockets, but not more painful that the blood gushing out of his leg, blood soaking the waters red.

He screams, losing more air in between.

Choking, he grabs his throat in fits of panic, another hand pinching his nose to stop the water going through his nostrils.

Something is pulling him down.

His smile has never felt as distant as this.

_Give up._

He jolts back up onto the battlefield. How many hours has it been?

How many hours has it been since he has lost contact with—

The door jars open. And before he could gather his rifle in line he watches the rain of bullets moving ever so slowly to his irises, but only to realize his actions were even slower than the speed of these impending rounds that he feels them pierce through his skin, slice through his tissues, and digs into his skull…

Then all he sees now is the wall of the ceiling, where he quickly climbs out from the bed beneath it. Soaked in cold sweat, he slides into his shoes quickly and darts out of the bunk.

His mind is a blur but it no longer matters.

His heart is a wreck but it is no longer relevant.

Silently, he slips past the booth where the medical officers are seen nodding off in their chairs. Filtering through the room numbers, he hurriedly locates the end of the walkway, turning into a narrow corridor to a room secluded. As he turns the knob, his heart drops at the sight of the man lying motionlessly in the room. Bruised in the face, wrinkled skin tattered, Piers takes a moment before he pulls the chair out and sits beside the man.

The cast around his leg griped by the inhuman death trap.

Infection around that wound had almost cost him his one good leg.

Despite the blood transfusion, doctors couldn’t assure if he wouldn’t slip into a comatose from the lack of blood and oxygen to his brain.

_The loss of that smile he loves, for good._

Piers breaks down.

“Please… please wake up, captain.”

No matter how hard one tries to hold those tears back, no one is capable of controlling how they fear at the sight of the one they love in a state almost no different to paralysis.

_A state beyond repair._

He murmurs a wish beside his bed. Then a prayer for him to wake up, trading his life in exchange for his.

Just to see those honest deep brown eyes once more.

“Please… I beg you, Chris. Please… wake up.”

He has his hand over his mouth, worried that his voice might catch unnecessary attention to this room. All he wants at this moment is to spend every single second next to his captain, just to be the first to know he has awakened, just to be the one he immediately sees when he wakes up. Hanging by a thin strand of hope, the tears slip through his fingers over his lips, salty taste smeared all over other than the mess of his wet mucus over the back of his hand. But there isn’t time to care about these dirty things, the only thing ever in his concern is the silent prayer he repeatedly chants in his heart.

_Don’t go. Don’t leave me._

“I need you, captain.”

_Don’t go. Don’t leave me._

“You’ll get through this, I know you will.”

_Don’t go. Don’t leave me._

The first blood falls between his teeth and lips, but no hurt registers greater than the one in his heart.

_Don’t go. Don’t leave me._

It can’t end like this. 

_“I love you… so please, come back to me.”_


	8. Salvage

He was completely vulnerable. I took my chance.

In spite his dislike for me, he’s the one who took my hand in the shady pub we met.

He probably wasn’t even as vulnerable as I thought he could be. Doesn’t matter now.

The moment the door swung open he looked at me in the eye, stumbling in his drunken stupor to my feet and he looked up at me.

I had to thank my genes at a time like this. I liked the fact that I was looking down at him, shadowing him. It made him look small.

But the fury in his eyes weren’t as small as I see.

He smelt of booze instead of the aftershave he usually wears. But that wasn’t the only thing he reeked off. He smells like rejection.

A white crumpled shirt that looked every bit like an undershirt, basically parading around like a woman wearing nothing but her bra. I glared at it. A bra without the paddings that’s for sure. Old and thin and flimsy—just there to be taken off in a second.

Or ripped off in half a second in fact.

I licked my lips. He’s completely asking for it.

I find us standing in front of a used door now. The corridor we walked past filled with sounds that we’re about to fill in too. He anxiously opens the door, and even more anxious to close it once I’m through it. He loses the jacket as I find my way to the single couch.

I watch the show he’s shamelessly putting on. The white shirt tossed over his head disappears into the room while he makes his way to me, straddling my lap and waiting for me.

His eyes are rigged with anger, and he wants to put them out it seems.

There is no need for words tonight. No need for quarrels or comebacks.

He’s like the band-aid on my cut skin and I’m the aspirin he overdosed on. A demand meeting a supply, a wound tended by care.

Care? We’re beyond that.

We’re just using each other to ease ourselves from whatever pain we felt.

So I pick him off the couch with me, feeling his legs strapped to the back of my hips as I throw him onto the bed. He looks at me with such eagerness that my only response to it came from down below. It is the only response he is looking for, I’m sure.

I nip along his ears and jaw, lavishing my teeth all over his neck and bone. He forestalls a hick of a breath, almost ashamed of the noises he could make in the atmosphere we’re in that shouldn’t matter. Rooms beside us are doing the exact same thing as we are now, and the women much louder than he could ever be. But something appears to hold him back from letting himself go. And I wasn’t going to be cheated a dime of my time.

So I clasp my hand around his throat after I peeled his pants off. He looks startled to my delight, and I only applied the pressure harder on him. He fights to take my hand off, but I wrestle to keep his wrists above his head. And when I’m done doing that, I return to choke him as hard as I could, a sense of anger emerging from the shadows.

“Don’t resist me.” I demand, a voice that would probably remind people of my father. There’s a hunger I need to satiate right now before it takes control of my mind. It wanted to do things far worse than I am capable of to this man beneath me.

He struggles. A behavior I’m so familiar with. He loves to fight. He wants to be strong. He needs to be strong. He wants to shine, so much so it blinds everyone else out of his sight. The one person that only matters to him.

I clench my fingers into his skin. He needs to be taught a lesson. Knows who’s in charge now. He coughs once, then twice. He’s almost losing the air in his lungs as I sink him into the mattress.

He finally registers the predicament he is in, panicking. Tears pool in his eyes, I cut him off so bad he’s turning red.

“You learnt your lesson yet, soldier?” I scowl, and he looks at me with the rigor in his eyes that I just want to break them. So I release my grip and slap him hard across the face. It instantly turns three shades darker before I do it again. He may have hissed in shock, but he isn’t resisting any bit of it.

He probably just needed some discipline like a damn soldier. I clamp my hand around his throat again, “Have you?”

His breathing turns erratic. The redness has gone to his chest. He tries to breathe with his mouth slightly parted, his eyes slightly hazed.

“You fucking listened yet, Piers Nivans?” I hiss, vehemently. At this point I’m about bleed him if he says no.

But he somehow knows otherwise, thus whispering weakly, “Y-yes… sir…”

I’ve taken him out of his core. The one thing I wanted so badly to deflower.

So I flip him over to his stomach, hands pulling his ass cheeks as wide as I can as I thumb his entrance. He shakes uncontrollably, and I couldn’t resist to slap his white ass. I can’t wait to see it burst into flames, and I spank him a couple of more times.

“Don’t move,” I growl, lining the tip of my cock to his entrance.

And his muscle breaks open as I push in. I don’t hesitate to go slow. I want him to remember this pain.

I unsheathe my full length in him, reviling that tight hole my length throbs in. I spank him a couple times more, my handprint visible on the purity as I try to get him tighter than he already is. When I feel that he does, I retract my penetration to my tip before I slam it deep back into him.

He’s so fucking tight, I’m about to lose it. His ass is not letting me go. It even kinda feels better than the women I’ve had over the last few years.

And he listens. Stiff as a corpse, he’s trying not to move like I told him to. I like him being obedient like this, his delusional side responding to our tryst.

As I lean over his back in my rapid thrusting, I throw an arm over his head, locking his neck with my elbow. I reel into the embrace, my lips ghosting over his ears as his eyes shut tight under my fucking. I smile.

“You’re as tight as a cunt, soldier. It’s good you know how to use that ass of yours.”

He shivers in my arm. I can feel it between the flesh slapping.

Snapping my hips forward, he begins panting soft moans. His lips look beautiful under the neon lights shown from outside. I wanna cum in that mouth of his.

“Who do you belong to?” I ask, already known the answer in the far back of my mind. But I want to hear him say it, it will give me a reason to humiliate him even further.

He swallows a breath in his dry mouth, “you… you, sir…”

“Say it. Say my fucking name, or do you want to be punished?”

He doesn’t speak. He’s stretching my limits. I release my arm from his throat as I continually slap his ass, thighs, waist and wherever my hand could get to. It’s stinging in pain but I couldn’t care less. Then I press his face flat into the mattress, holding him there while he squirms for air. Though, I don’t let him get air.

But he still doesn’t say it regardless and my patience is all worn out. I slip a finger beneath my cock into his sore ass, earning a jolt from his body. That’s it… he knows what I would do if he doesn’t listen.

“Say it or I’ll stuff my fist in there.”

My tone doesn’t lighten. He knows exactly what I am capable of. He knows what mercenaries like me would do to get what we want.

“C-Chris… Chris Redfield,” he cries.  _He's healed._

Whereas, I’m not.

I instantly pull my cock out of his ass along with my finger as I push and turn him over on the bed. Straddling his chest, I grab that convenient fringe of his and force my length into his mouth. He shuts his eyes tight when I get it in, all the way to the back of his throat. Then I go fast, knocking his throat like a fist into the wall. 

I can feel the back of his mouth closing onto my head, his tonsils perhaps sore and swollen by my brutality.

“I’m gonna cum in your mouth.” I whisper, feeling my peak climaxing.

And he locks his lips over my shaft in all wanton decency. His face is a healthy shade of redness that I slapped into, he’s beautiful this way.

Too bad the captain doesn’t see it.

My movements go faster as I grip his hair for support. He takes it kind and graciously. Of course he would, he is worshipping his idol in his delusional world that I bring him into. But I’m no Samaritan in my bone I know. The first thing I’d ever learnt being who I am is to never let anyone take advantage of you. So I’m going to rob him of his dignity.

He’s gonna remember who fucked him when he needed it most.

And my seeds go uncontrolled, spurting into his mouth as I hurriedly take it out and spill the remains all over his face. His cheek, his nose and his lips glisten in the pearly white semen. I squeeze every bit of it out of my shaft as I empty the chamber, another hand still fisting his hair. He parts his lips letting the texture flow into his mouth, eyes half-lidded in his high.

Looks like he’s as vulnerable as I thought he is.

Yanking his head and body upright, I bend down to his ears, “You’ve got one helluva mouth, Piers Nivans. I enjoyed it.”

I’m not gonna let him go just yet.

I’m going to make him remember this for life. Sear it deep into his brain, melt it right into his system. His body will remember tonight.  _I’m cured._

Tonight there is no Chris Redfield for him, or for any more of the nights to come.

There is only me.

“I, Jake Muller, fucking loved it.”


	9. Leashes of Servitude I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very AU.

**Part One**

It was the sound of the horn of triumph glory the moment Astyages fell, the last King of the Median Empire sent to his grave by Cyrus the Great. It was historically remembered as the start of the Achaemenid Empire, the First Persian Empire, and his standing warriors sung in wine and dance in the company of beautiful exotic women. At the end of the month long celebration, he decided to travel forth toward the great Jerusalem to return rights of exiled victims to return home. The Jews were in debt to the liberator, whom in turn used the opportunity to buffer state between his empire and Egypt. Much was undisclosed to the men beneath his council, especially men who knew nothing other than to strike their foes with a sword or to sting their hearts with dagger.

That included the King's most trusted right hand man, a man stilt with the heart of royalty and hands of bravery. He led the invasion through the West gates successfully with littlest deaths and was applauded the man of valor. Even Cyrus gave him a wide berth to the atrocities he could do, which were mainly identified as his senseless sympathy for the poor and the sick where his rewards were often distributed.

"Have you not any sympathy for yourself, Esfandyar? Squandering all these riches the King bestowed upon you like wine down the drain."

The one named Esfandyar laughs, one that tickles his funny bone or stomach he couldn't quite tell, as he hands another silver coin to a sickly woman under the sheltered slums, "I'm broadening the compassion of the King to his people with his riches. What use do we have for these coins when we can have any and everything in the world at our fingertips in comparison to these people who need them more than we do?"

"Only you," his good friend, Darab sighs, "Only you can have the mountains and seas so long as you breathe a word. The King only has eyes for your greatness."

"Darab my brother, you're horribly mistaken. The King values all men equally. And please, call me Chris. We all know Esfandyar is just a name the King has bestowed upon me to hide my ethnicity."

Darab grins this time, "Don't be foolish, he values you more than his sons. I'm worried what the heirs might think of you in a time like this."

As he dispenses the last of his coins away, Chris throws an arm around the shoulders of his comrade as he drags him away from the poverty district, "Your concerns are most heartfelt but it is time for the feast! Certainly we do not want the royalty to be waiting for peasants like ourselves!"

Where in this case however, perhaps even the King's most trusted right hand couldn't foresee destiny coming forth his way in the most unexpected arrangements of all time. Darab is seen laughing with another exotic dancer, Mina, at the announcement made over dinner where the crowd cheered in honor of the great Esfandyar, who is nonetheless discolored by horror plastered across his face. His Lord must be making a terrible mistake, a drunken one if he must say.

"Sire, I think this is not—"

"My, my, the great Esfandyar trepidates at the name of marriage!" Cyrus roars in laughter, leading the insidious effects of mockery shadowing the dining halls. The men laugh, so did the women too, but none of which caught in Chris' concerns because he would do anything to weave out of his predicaments. He certainly will not let himself be bound by marriage, diplomatic or not.

"It is only my desire to serve you, my Lord so please, a marriage is most ill-timed now than ever until your great vision is achieved."

Cyrus scoffs, "You belittle yourself far too greatly, Esfandyar. You've fought long and hard by my side. Ever since the child I've seen, your eyes possess such fire that would no doubt lead to greatness built in a man, as well as the future carved within your hands. But this, this my child, is your destiny. If you meant well to serve my goals, you will not hesitate to take the hand of the princess in matrimony."

There is coercion in the King's word. Chris knows the voice of the determined will. Darab stops his laughter in between, the resignation in his brother's eyes melts him. Quickly, he steps away from the comfort of his consort as he makes way to his friend, a man whose words are drown in the merriment of the feasting and the King's will as well.

"Perhaps I could take the princess' hand in marriage if need be, father." Cambyses raises a mug of ale, "I would adorn her like the flowers in the mystical deserts."

"You have far too many wives and consorts for your own taste, Cambyses, now sit down before I make you!"

The laughter continues to rise in the hall, Cyrus pleased to see his subjects supportive of his idea. "Bardiya has seen the beauty of the princess he reports, like the eye of the rarest jewel on the face of the desert. Her skin glows like gold sands with eyes shining as bright as stars in the night. A beauty well deserving of your affection, Esfandyar."

Chris blinks once, deeply. His fate is sealed.

"You will take her marriage once Bardiya escorts her back to the palace. The princess of Sardis of Lydia whom we have taken, and in your marriage we will forge a bond greater than ever for our Persian Empire!"

The drunken men cheer to the visions of the King. Chris kneels on one knee before he takes oath as implored.

"I'm most utterly grateful to your ever-giving kindness… my Lord."

* * *

Chris wakes up to the soft glow of the moonlight shining from his balcony into his room. He shifts away from the warm body of another consort, sets his foot onto the cold marbles where he picks his robe up. The soft satin wraps around his body before he gently leaps onto the ledge of his balcony, leaning against the wall behind him watching the large moon glowing in the distant. It has been fifteen years since the King found him in the slums of Macedonia and ten years into the battles he fought in his name. He lives not with a purpose to bear a lover or family, that those were the very ones who had sold him to the slave market where he made his escape into the slums. He has borne little regards keeping a wife as compared to housing a consort, people with little commitments and forth needs.

A thousand women could lay at his feet but he would have no eyes for either of them. Fighting in his blood as his maker delivers, and in blood he would return his body to Him when his deed is done.

Such is the price of his servitude bound to the King—a man who has given him everything in this world, yet taken everything from him all at once.

* * *

"So I heard Jillian Azadeh of Sardis will arrive this evening! Are you nervous?" Darab follows in company of his good brother who is on a mission unspoken. They cross through the poverty until the sounds of men yelling welcome them into the open.

"Who?" Chris, underwhelmed than interested, asks to extend his attention.

"Your wife, Chris! Surely you remember her name, don't you!"

Merchants, traders and traffickers of all trades and sorts meet at the black market square to deal all forms of businesses. Chris is out on a mission, and eyes of the world intrigue him boundlessly.

"This isn't the right time to talk about my unprecedented fate, Darab! I've far more important things to see to!" He shouts to his brother, making sure his hand grips him tight so he doesn't lose himself in the crowds.

The exotic animals of the far West and the great East astound him. He watches with absolute incredulity at their ferociousness or vanity. Fights amongst monstrous creatures of strength parading in the market mark highlights, as well as insipid ones with agility and danger. Locals are fascinated, spending gold and silver rampantly to their impulsive curiosity. Chris is too far trained for these short-lived tendencies, he is looking for something that is really going to be worth his money. Women cling onto him as he passes through them, their dealers advertising their chastity "a taste not to be forgotten" on the first night, a guarantee that "they will not be disappointed". He laughs at the measly attempts, pulling Darab through the aisles of seduction before his friend falls prey to it.

"Never buy women in the markets," Chris reminds.

"Well you never did say I couldn't gawk at them!"

That made the both of them laugh at the indecency Darab speaks of, Chris rubbing the black strands on his brother's head before they meander through the crowds again.

The brothers then made quick work of a couple of snacks Chris splurges on willingly. A fruit, unsightly green yet brownish on the outside, yet wet and sweet on the inside with pulps as red as ruby. The merchant said it was a fruit from the great China, and it took them months to travel across the great desert before they arrive to share the fruits of their labor. Such outlandish marvel outside their Persian knowledge, the warrior buys a basket worth of them to have them delivered under his name to the palace, which as he may have expected, the merchant is more grateful than ever. And his gratitude goes beyond Chris' wildest dreams, for he whispers a secret stash he keeps only for the sharp buyers. And with that, the warrior has found what he is looking for he tells Darab, quietly as they follow the merchant to a secret walkway to a provision shop. The keeper nods at the merchant as they exchange a secret password, and a passageway opens down to the basement where Chris is angered at the sight.

Slaves.

A dozen of child slaves.

He immediately waves his dagger kept hidden under his sash, a hand ramming the merchant into the stoned wall yelling in the name of the atrocities committed to hold these children as slaves to be sold. Darab holds his ground on the stairway, fending off the shopkeeper who marches in at the sound of their commotion, a sword in hand. Chris is relentless. He pounds the merchant mercilessly, blows after blows of paradox anger fisted into the man's face until a pair of hands grab his fist from thrusting anymore. In his fit, he swings the force holding, throwing the load of mass forward when he flips his hand over. A boy, body grown to adolescence he would presume, is slammed to the ground yet hands not leaving his wrist.

As he threatens to wave the dagger over the assailant's throat, the boy on the ground enchants him.

With eyes as bright as gold, courage as strong as steel and determination as wild as fire, the boy glares at him.

"Let go," Chris speaks darkly.

"No," the boy speaks bluntly. His accent is weak of Persian, an immigrant perhaps.

"Why protect the man who is selling you into slavery? Have you lost your mind to have taken pity on this fool?" His anger is rising, and Darab has never seen his brother blown in fury in a very long time.

Yet these eyes are strong and powerful. They stand against Chris who feels challenged, a good challenge he has had in ages, "He may have wanted to sell us, but he has been feeding us. And for that, as compared to our real parents who have given up on us, he has shown more mercy than they ever did."

Those words reminded him of the words a child had once spoken decades ago. The familiarity shakes the warrior out before he withdraws his dagger, reaching a hand out to help the boy, "Can you stand?"

Barely hesitant, the boy reaches for his hand as he pulls him up, "We need to help the younger children out."

Chris grins, "Then you're in luck."

* * *

The constables in the division arrived to pick up the storekeeper and the merchant away. Chris has arranged the children to the palace to have them cleaned up and fed promptly, along with the boy with the golden eyes. He finds himself peculiarly attached to the orbs in his mind, so much so that when Darab creeps up to him from behind, he doesn't realize it and is startled off the ledge he sits on outside the palace yard.

"Fancy the great Esfandyar startled by the measly me!" Darab chatters, dancing around in the yard as he takes joy in Chris' displacement.

"Quiet, Darab. I was just deep in thought to notice you."

"If so, what has taken you so deep in thought then, my dear brother?"

Chris keeps his mouth sealed. The talk of the boy may incur unwanted suspicions especially since tonight—

"Oh right! Are you thinking about your wife? She should be arriving any second now, brother!"

And there is the princess of Sardis. Chris dreads the idea of the dinner after, they would most definitely be delighted to send the princess to his room. He doesn't want that. He intends to buy every second of his singlehood for as long as he could. He would gladly hand the princess to Darab who is a much worthy lover than he ever is. But the King has bestowed the honor to him, an honor he isn't too sure to call one at all.

Other than that, there's the boy. Eyes like gold, shining…

…walking towards him from across the hall now.

Darab watches the stranger in the distance coming towards them until he remembers him as the boy in the basement. He is tanned, like slaves often under the sun to walk provisions for the merchants but his tan is not charred. His body is firm but not strong and his frame clothed in cotton and silk. He almost passes for a youthful prince after the cleaning, except for the straight locks falling to his shoulders shielding most of his face.

"Where do you think you're—"

As Darab steps up to the boy, Chris stops him from behind, "Leave Darab. I want to have a word with the boy."

"But the princess is arrivin—"

"It will be quick. Stall some time for me in the halls, will you?"

His brother sighs, making quick steps to the end of the room before he closes the grand door. The boy startles at the sound of the door shut, there is no one else but the two of them in the visitor's leisure hall on the side of the palace.

Chris steps down from the ledge in the yard and walks back into the shelter. The brave soul now has his eyes looking down on the smooth pavement such that his reflection basks in it. He laughs, as he circles the boy in slow footwork, taking his time to read every detail on him.

"Do you admire yourself through the floors? I'm certain the palace has enough mirrors for you to adorn your beauty if you need to do so."

Offended, the boy strikes his hand at the warrior but is nonetheless caught in a grip in an instant. Chris lets his hand tighten around his wrist, forcing his hand down before he folds it to his back, pushing the boy up to him as his face looks up.  _There those beautiful eyes are_  Chris tells himself, they're such rare jewels more than the desert could ever offer him. Orbs like topaz, glistening from a body warm hot like sand in the day, skin as smooth as youth on a woman. How did the merchant chance upon beauty rarer than beauty itself?

"A spitfire, aren't you?"

"I am not a woman. I have no beauty for you to speak of."

"How did you chance upon such amazing… eyes?" Chris couldn't contain his curiosity. "You're certainly not of Persian blood."

The boy bites his lip, "Ly… I'm Lydian."

"I've heard the beauties of Lydia and I've always found them to be myths but by my eyes, a young male like you, yet present yourself so beautifully before any consorts I've ever taken. Lydia certainly has treasures of their own."

He wants to find them an insult but the man speaks truth in his eyes. He can see it.

"Are… are you a prince?" He asks, breaths a mixture of deep and shallow.

Chris smiles, loosening his grip gently, "I'm not. I was born servitude."

He looks surprised at the answer, a sparkle in his eyes almost cinching a start, "But you're… you're…"

"A man who led the group of constables? A man with skills to fight his own enemies? A man who is well dressed and living in the palace?"

The boy is silent again.

"I was taken in by the King when I was fifteen. I was given a chance to lead a life I never thought I would ever attain in my life in the slums. I learnt hard and I fought harder, and this is how I manage to come this far. And this is how, you will be able to do it too."

He brightens at the words his savior used, "I…I can… too?"

Grinning, "Of course you can. We can always use people who are willing to fight for us…" and as he trails, Chris cups a hand along the boy's jaw as he rubs along his skin, "…though it would be a pity that this skin might be marred in battles in the future."

He looks away this time. The boy looks ashamed.

"I'm… already scarred."

Chris looks baffled, his hands already gone from the grip behind to his shoulders. The boy's frame is lithe but firm, smooth but hard, truly a new sensation for the warrior to be this mesmerized beyond the women he has bedded. He looks away from the grown man but Chris refuses to let his gaze falter, holding the boy's chin with his thumb and index finger as he turns him back to him. His eyelashes are thick and long, black as the lines and makeup women put on their pretty faces. And fervidly he seeks those eyes, his hands now cupping both sides of the boy's face in case he makes a run, though to nowhere he could think of.

"Would you show me… the scars?" He whispers to the boy's face, the blazing sun piercing into his torrid skin.

The young male is helpless to his boldness, his hands searching for support on the warm skin he grabs onto. The faux prince is one with the sun he sees, like they are bonded as one so he could melt anybody's resolve in a matter of seconds. With rugged stubble and the faint scar just under his eye, his curt hairstyle suits nothing to the likes of Persians he has seen. He is truly one of a kind he believes, and the deliverance is almost as sweet as the breath blows into his face.

 _Ficus carica_ , the taste of the fruit he knows the merchant sells.

"I… I'm not worthy."

Harkening, Chris lets out a scoff, "Only I… will determine if you're worthy or not."

He feels his heartbeat skip. This man is far too dangerous. Yet he still is his benefactor, someone he wants to repay his gratitude for his rescue and a second chance given. Then he feels the tip of a nose brushing along the side of his neck, short pants breathing against his skin as he shrivels in nervousness. The man drops his hands from the corners of his shoulders along his arms before he grabs them to his back. He forestalls a panic shriek.

"You… what is your name?" Chris groans.

The uncharacteristic scent of fresh bath on this boy is permeating lavender and lilies, perhaps even a touch of evergreen. Most women would have never been able to accept evergreen but this woody scent seems perfect on the boy. Chris reaches a hand under the sash holding his robe together, the naked skin beneath the fabric so ever enticing in his eyes. And as he thought the boy will obediently let him have his ways, a pair of hands grab his collar tightly and yanks him forward.

There is something awfully attractive about this spitfire in his arms Chris admits. He's surprised in one way more than the other. As his body presses into the boy's chest, he watches the golden orbs glowering at him, dark and hungry, thirsty.

"Pierasis, …but everyone calls me Piers."

Chris grins, "The palace calls me Esfandyar but you my little spitfire, …call me Chris."

Piers swallows a thick breath, his savior is beyond intoxicating. But he holds his ground firm, the grip in his hands even firmer as he stares back into the Persian's dim eyes, "I… L-let me repay you your kindness."

 _Now this is interesting._  "How would you do that, my sweet boy?"

"Any-anything you desire…  _sire._ "

"Use my name. I've given you permission to."

Piers returns the intense gaze at his savior, determined to carry out his goal, "Let me serve you, … _Chris_."

"My child, you're—"

"Esfandyar! The princess of Sardis has arrived!" The announcement blares through the door before Chris could finish his sentence. "To the welcoming halls please, sire!"

Chris curses away, but keeps his grip on the boy who is baffled by the interlude. But before the warrior makes his departure, he makes sure to explain to his little boy since the announcer presses on.

"Sire!"

"All right! I heard you the first time!"

Watching Chris sigh, Piers brings a hand to the side of his face, "Are you needed elsewhere?"

He nods, "Heaven knows how badly the King needs me to secure his diplomacy with Lydia. I'm meeting my wife-to-be, Piers."

The shower of truth is what Piers has prepared himself for as he now finds himself almost crazy to think about repaying his benefactor with the one thing he could offer when he is about to marry royal line. He would taint him for sure, by the disdain to his servitude. It is now impossible for him to fulfill his duties, and it would be a fool's errand if he ever mentions of it because he is not worthy of it.

_Only I… will determine if you're worthy or not._

"But if I hadn't the need to go, I will strip you bare of the clothing this palace has bestowed you, ripped it into shreds off your beautiful glowing body where the sun can see your beauty and how I would ruin it until none of your resolves are left. And you'll only be able to scream my name, plead for my mercy and then never be able to taste a woman in your life ever again."

When Chris lets go of the boy in his arms, Piers falls to the ground. He stays on the ground dazed and shocked, redness slowly spreading across his face as the warrior kneels on one knee, shifting his face to him. He smirks proudly, licking his inner lips before he leans towards the boy.

He enjoys the look on Piers' face.

"I will tell the maidens to prepare the consort's bath for you. Take it before you come into my room tonight."

* * *

Jillian is beautiful.

Despite her raven Lydian ethnicity, her hair is blonde while her skin is bronze. She is decorated in the symbols of their empire painted over her flawless skin and clad in pure silk embroidered in gold threads.

Her ravishing beauty amazes both Cyrus and Cambyses. However the Persian men at the dining feast don't impress her. To her, they are men without an ounce of compassion, people who have raided her country, killed the innocents and now have even resorted to marriage to foster diplomatic ties in the event of war. She is tired of this game between the warlord and her father, who on the other hand has instructed her to gather important information regarding the Persian King that could be useful for them. If it weren't for the safety of her country, she wouldn't have allowed herself to be manipulated for these old men's selfish gains. She hadn't a choice, she is the princess after all.

And when Cambyses approaches her in his drunken state to circle around her a couple of times, the scent of the repugnant animal fumbles her stomach as she inwardly curses her ill fate to be married to such a repulsive man. However that was but a fleeting moment of tragedy until she realizes that Cyrus has wedded her to someone else not present in the hall just yet, and they are questioning his presence until liveliness screamed from the outer hallways.

That is when the horns sounded and the world cheers the entrance of the last member in the hall. The man who enters the halls smiles in his glory, far different from the men she has seen thus far and apparently loved and worshiped by many. Yet she has not heard of him in his name nor in the name of the King's son. The mysterious man swapped between tables, busily clinking mugs all in effort to stay away from her, leaving her baffled by his nonchalance. He displays no interests towards her, so much so that it begins to annoy her to have someone belittling her existence.

Not until he is addressed as the man whom she is betrothed to.

"Esfandyar is a man of valor. You are lucky to be his wife, princess of Sardis." Bardiya blesses, but she has already lost interest for anyone in the council other than this Esfandyar. "And we can most certainly assure you, he is a passionate creature of the night!"

The men laugh and the women chuckle at the scandalous title, the princess almost embarrassed of their openness in public.

He comes to her after he is done with every single table in sight, yet the look of boredom still plagues him. To say she isn't bothered by his disinterest would be a lie. Jillian waits for the warrior to settle in the seat beside her, where the King begins his long and loathsome speech.

"You seem to take no interest in me, even though I am your wife."

Her voice is rich with depth, a woman of clever wisdom as far as Chris could tell. Cleverness though, always the double-edged sword as Chris knows. "Wife to be, the marriage isn't until another three days."

"So I take it that you have no interest in the wedding at all?"

The look in her eye is questioning, this woman may even have more wit than half of the council in their sober state perhaps. The King appears to have misjudged the woman Chris thinks, because this would be so much harder to deal with when they are finally married—not when he intends to keep a  _mistress_  in his hut.

"I would assume the marriage isn't something you wanted too, princess."

She grins silently, "Finally a man who doesn't disgust me as the rest of the council does. I'm beginning to see something the others cannot provide, Esfandyar."

"As to you, Princess Jillian. You're certainly more than it meets the eye."

She has no need to know his real name.

* * *

It took much persuasion but eventually Chris got the council to send the princess to her guest quarters instead of his own. He has his own fair share of fun back in his room and he isn't going to let anyone spoil it before he returns. Tipsy and a little fuzzy, he finishes the last drop of wine from the bottle he stole from the kitchen as he makes his way back. With each step he takes, he grins from one corner of his mouth to the other.

Jillian may have been beautiful, and he might have been captivated if upon first sight of the Lydian; blonde yet tanned, curvaceous and soft, and with eyes like the color of rain.

But ever since he met Piers, everything changed.

Rain is nothing compared to the purity of gold, or the sparkle of topaz. Piers isn't just beautiful, the boy is perfect in every way he knows of.

And Chris knows after tonight, he would melt that resilience to a pool of fluid and then mold it into whatever he wants. He is the sun, a burning ball of fire.

His lair lays in the west wing of the palace, where his room attaches to the extended porch where he bathes in sunlight every morning. The luxury of his stay has always been a delight to the consorts serving him. May it be one or two, or five of them, he has never had a problem fitting them on his bed. And tonight, there will only be one.

One gorgeous boy, the first he's ever tempted to taste.

Stepping into the room, he notices the aromatic candles lit in the room. Candles seated on brass shelves and wooden tables, lined from the walls to his bed. A soft shuffle shifts from his bed in the distance, the purple satin sheets sliding off the body emerging from his bed. Chris grins as he approaches closer. The boy must have rested enough throughout the feast.

And he better had because he might not be able to for the rest of the night.

Slowly, the warrior removes his shoes at the edge of his bed before he climbs onto it. He peels the remains of the sheet away from the warmth body beneath it until he sees the face he missed since a few hours ago. The same pair of mesmerizing eyes awakes to him with dark messy locks scattered over the pillows. He presses his forehead over the Piers', looking deep into his eyes as the boy whispers softly.

"You reek of ale."

"I was at a feast. What else to drink other than ale, precious?"

Piers blushes gently. Even if he smells horribly of the spilled food and wine, nothing covers his natural addictive body scent. Piers reaches for the stained shirt before he peels it off the older man, his hands slightly shaking but determined. Chris lets his boy have his way, watching the unskilled hands pulling his shirt back as Piers draws a breath from his body. It is almost intriguing guessing what the boy is trying to do, but this is way more interesting than the experienced women no less.

"Much better," Piers whispers.

"You smell so much better. Did the maidens bathe you well? Did they wash you…  _clean_?"

Upon the word clean, a hint of crimson hits the young boy's face hard. It was the first time a woman has touched him so privately. Strangely however, it wasn't the thought of the women handling him in the bath that makes him nervous though. Looking back at Chris, the man runs a hand through his locks once more before he pulls his face close to his lips again.

"I should trim these locks the first thing tomorrow morning. They're hiding your beautiful face."

Piers moans softly, then closing his eyes, he feels the heat taking his lips.

Chris is living the experience. He tastes so much sweeter than the women in the palace. Gently, he rolls his mouth over the soft petals of his lips, nipping between his teeth as he folds them back. Piers rasps at his tenderness, running his hands through his brusque hair. He parts his lips for his savior to take him deeper, the taste of wine breathes into him as his intolerance keeps him afloat.

"Your hair… so short for Persian…"

Chris smiles in between the boy's mumbling, "Because I'm not entirely Persian."

He slides the consort's satin robe off Piers, fingers dancing over his youthful skin setting the boy into his bed. Piers watches him nervously, lips interlocked, hands desperately for the warmth of the sun to settle his anxiousness. He wraps his hands over the back of his neck, keeping the kiss moist and sunken. The scent of the warrior drives him insane; he smells of hope.

Pushing the robe apart, Chris spreads his hand alongside Piers' body where he elicits a sharp yelp between their kisses. There it is, the imperfection the boy mentioned earlier. He lets his fingers feel the jagged marred marks over his complexion but it doesn't turn him away. But Piers is holding his breath tightly he could tell, perhaps ashamed of the scars he is too aware of. Smirking, playfully, Chris leads his hand upwards over the hard peaks of his chest, passing the scars to his collarbone, shoulder, neck and finally to the back of his ear. He steals a breath away from Piers, who immediately groans in the tight seizure, fingers clawing into his skin. Gasping, the warrior drinks the scent of evergreen, lifting his partner slightly as he tears the remaining satin away. When Piers lies back onto his bed, Chris straddles his lap observing every inch of his glistening body in the glow, a gentle breeze whizzing into the room causing some candles to flicker and go out.

"Never in my life have I wanted to taste a man as much as you." He confesses, studying the features. "You're so exotic… that it would kill me not having you."

Piers murmurs, "I… I've never… thought, wanted to offer myself like this… other than you… …"

"You… shouldn't have come to me," the warrior warns, "I may not be able to be as gentle as I've always been with women."

As though letting the last of his worries go, Piers presses his palms across the broad chest of his savior,  _his master_ , caressing the hard flesh carved in scars as he tries to remember every detail of this man. The smell of his scent, the scars on his body and the charitable heart buried deep within it, he wants it all for his own.

"But I'm no woman… you don't have to."

* * *

Flipped over, Piers places his hands on the back of his thighs. As he has been ordered, he pushes his knees into the bed while his back arches into the air, propping his ass upwards while his hands keep his legs apart. But his legs weren't the only assets spread apart, for Chris guides his hands higher up his thighs, until eventually he makes Piers pulls his cheeks apart from behind. The boy hides his embarrassment into the soft pillow, mouthing at his awkwardness as Chris takes his time to savor the gorgeous display, fingers playing along the valley gently. That makes the boy muffle harder into the pillow for his legs tremble hard. Teasing is wicked he curses inwardly, finding it difficult to hold his position if the older man continues any further.

Almost chuckling, Chris leans closer until his hand manages to touch the boy's shaft from beneath. Drawing the sharp moan, he fondles the hardened shaft in his hand stroking the corners of the head to his length. Piers claws into his own flesh, feeling electrocuted by the sensation for he whimpers uncontrollably. The wetness flows from his tip prematurely draws Chris' attention to it, coating his length to enhance his pleasure. But he doesn't stop there. Dragging the remains, he pulls it under and then over between his ass, the tip of his middle finger rubbing his entrance before he tastes the stickiness in his mouth.

He grins at the fine taste, licking his fingers thoroughly before he sets it back on him. Piers tenses at the position.

"Relax, my precious…"

Gripping the sheets, Piers tries hard to relax at the foreign experience. As he expects the penetration, he feels the flick of warm flesh over his hole and it makes him shudder.  _That… wasn't his fingers_ he muses, and then another flick rolls over his tightness causes him to yelp wordlessly. It's soft and warm, wet and fleshy, Piers didn't dare to think what it was.

Until he turns to peek from the bedface, he finds Chris' face pressed so closely to his rear.

Although it is his first time doing this, Chris figures it should work the way he performs it on a woman. Confident, he rims the boy's puckered entrance generously, wetting the surface thoroughly before he pushes his tongue in slightly. The boy stiffens at his ministration, welling a smirk up his face, so he retracts a little, before probing it again. He lines the face of his tongue against his walls before he circles it once, drawing sweet noises hiding from the bedhead. Accustoming to it, he twirls it a few more times then finally flicks his tongue out from the gentle surfacing, brushing his entrance with clean sweeps again.

But Piers is shaking violently, a sort of tremble that doesn't pain the heart but only accelerates its desires. Chris snakes his hand along the side of his waist. The boy's skin is burning.

Hungry, he kneels on his knees as he pulls the boy down to him, away from the pillows he masks in. He lines his rear against pelvic, where his hardness hits the boy's lower rear. Piers yelps in awareness, the rock hard length jutting against his cheeks slowly rolling up between them. Chris is guiding it, slowly yet surely, until he rests it just under his body, inches away from his entrance.

"You're burning…"

Pushing his arms against the bed, Piers supports his body above it as he turns back, "…you melt, you… the sun… melt me…"

And that is exactly what he wants to do. "Indeed… it is my intention to melt you then make you mine."

Wordless, and barely coherent, Piers keeps his body as still as he could, looking dead ahead. A silent sign telling his savior his needs are heard and assuring his needs will be fulfilled tonight.

_I'm ready._

Lining his entrance, Chris thumbs it once last time, spreading the remains of his saliva around before he guides his hardness in. Piers digs his fingers into the sheets, clenching it in his palm as Chris goes in deeper. He feels full, stretched, and the pain consumes the rest of his thoughts. It is almost as if something is breaking inside him the more he presses into, and when he finally stops, Piers could barely move. Weird is an understatement. It's as though his tip is tapping against a wall inside him and each time it happens, even the slightest brush against it, Piers is crippled of his thoughts.

Whereas Chris has never felt this tight penetrating a woman in his life, he admits, because Piers isn't the only one who could barely move. He feels as though one move could send him over the edge like a first-time adolescent. But that brings him to remember the real first-timer on this bed, and he is much, much tighter than the virgin consorts he has ever tried.

So very slowly, he withdraws in the tightness a little before he pushes it forward again. Piers groans for the first few times, but eventually finds the action much tolerable after feeling something oozing inside him. It's wet and warm, his savior's pleasure he thinks, because that slippery juices made him feel better. But he knows he isn't the only one taking pleasure in this now, the rugged huffs stalking his ears sets him aflame for he finds a pool of burning want under his stomach.

 _Lust._  The husky pants filling the room thrust deep into him. Piers wants to hear more of it, especially since he's the reason for it.

Chris slides in and out of the boy confidently, the sensation rapid and raw from their flesh slapping. He holds Piers in place by his waist, ramming the invisible wall inside him knocking the sweet noises out of his lips. It's just like how it is with a woman, except this feels strangely better. Piers' voice is so much better. He slams back into the tight hole until his cheeks turn red, picking up speed as he feels the boy grabbing tighter from within. He worries he is quite done for, that he won't be able to feast in other women again.

He needs to mold the boy then. He needs to make him desire only him.

"My beautiful… Piers, …don't ever go."

It's not a plead nor a need. Piers could identify the thirst in those words, he means for him to stay at all cost. It's an order.

And how could he ever leave his savior after he has given him the one precious thing he has defended all these years under the hands of the merchant? He could never leave, because he is all that he could ever yearn for.

"My sire, my lord… there is nowhere else I would go… without you, Chris."

Taking his commitment, Chris takes the last of his restraint off. Pounding deep beyond the walls, he hears the screams crying in his room. Not of displeasure but of course, the aptitude to desire more of his brutal loving echoes back at him pleading him to give more and take even more. Piers curses the heavens and then cusses in Chris' name, throwing his head back when his master pulls his body back against him. He's helpless at the manhandling, thrust and thrown back and forth over his bed until Chris rests his body fully on his back. The sun scorches him slowly, turning him back into the pool of lust he originally is for the heat grabs his wrists tightly into the sheets and slams relentlessly into him.

Their melding is perfect. Chris looks at the tiny droplets forming over Piers' back and dips to lick his skin. He is burning out, like the candles in the room to the last drop of wax. So he wraps his arms around his lower hip tightly to finish his momentum, leaving the beautiful slave writhing in his arms begging for mercy.

And his mercy comes to fulfillment when his seeds burst into heat. Piers moans at the hot juices flooding his walls when his savior stretches into him. It's almost too delicious to let it stop, Piers' dry mouth rasps dryly. Chris arches into his release, toes digging into the sheet emptying every drop into the boy. Slowly he releases his hand from the boy's hips, sliding past his sides back to lower back gripping his flesh tight. He gives a few light thrusts into the rear before he pulls it out. The walls tug against his shaft so painfully tight that he hisses, tilting the tip of his head at an angle to finally remove it. He watches the a tiny trail of white semen leaking from his soreness, dripping onto the sheets while his legs finally give way into the bed.

Chris falls with his lover onto the bed. In spite the firm body, there is something relinquishing about it. He lets his guard drop, his tension fall, and nests close to the warmth, finding solace in the passion they just shared. Piers lets his hands run freely over his savior's hair while the older man crawls up towards him. Eyes not leaving one another, a clash of gold and hazel, they share a moment in smiles and tears. Chris smiles at his beautiful lover whereas the younger struggles to stop his tears, though he doesn't let Piers hide them away by kissing them gently.

Then very softly, delicately, he pulls him into his arms and holds him tight.

He is beautiful one way or the other. The most beautiful slave he never wants to set free.


End file.
